Folie à Deux
by punkfiction
Summary: "Love is choosing to serve someone and be with someone in spite of their filthy heart." Newly-minted Arkham therapist Doctor Harleen Quinzel had a mind tiptoeing into questionable territory even before she laid eyes on the Joker. Proximity is a catalyst for mania; how far can she stretch before she snaps? People do crazy things...when they're in love.
1. I Started A Joke

_Folie à Deux - a delusion, psychosis or madness shared by two people in close association;_

 _'a classic case of folie à deux'_

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Chapter One.

I Started A Joke.

* * *

Would they notice my hands were shaking?

Would they tell I'd changed my shirt one, two, three and four times before wrestling myself back into the white one I'd first put on? White said serious. White said, ignore the blonde hair and baby blues, I know the _Diagnostic Statistical Manual_ better than I learned my ABCs. Please ignore the fact I'm sweating all over your waiting room seats.

 _Fuck it, Harls, you're green as grass_. I ignored my inside-voice. It was a good voice to ignore, given it thought six martinis and two tequila shots was an a-OK great idea. I'd had it locked in a box since I stepped foot into medical school. Hell, since my Daddy realised it existed he'd been trying to squish it out of me. No drink, no drugs, no sex. School and discipline, homework and family dinners.

 _I ever catch you like this again, Harleen Quinzel, I'll make you wish you'd never been born!_ The one and only time I'd let the jack out of the box and listened to my insides, Daddy had made sure there was never a repeat performance. I mean, you'd think he'd give a girl a break on her twenty-first birthday, right?

"Harleen Quinzel?"

I jumped out of my sticky leather seat, smoothing my skirt with one hand and offering the other to the blonde Doctor now regarding me, his head tilted to one side.

"That's me, Harleen Quinzel, reporting for duty." The words came out so fast they ran together as I shook his hand with enthusiasm, abruptly dropping it once I remembered how sweaty my palms were. _Idiot_ , I cursed myself.

"Sorry." I shrugged, sheepish. "Nerves, you know."

"No problem." He made a show of wiping his hand on his lab coat and I giggled. "You looked like you were miles away. Careful, in here someone might mistake that for catatonia." He winked, grinning. He had one of those faces that's difficult to age. At a push, I'd put him at around ten years my senior, with a couple of extra lines to boot. I wondered if he was a resident, like me. I'd definitely seen him somewhere before.

"I'm Doctor Jeremiah Arkham." He tapped the name badge pinned to his pocket. _Oh_. _Duh._ "Jeremiah will be fine." He filled in before I could ask. "And you prefer…?"

"Harleen will be fine," I parroted him. _Nervous mirroring_ , inner-psychologist Harleen chimed in. _Possible predecessor to palilalia—a sign of social discomfort._

"Sorry about the late meeting." He shrugged. "Evening time is usually best for introductions. The patients tend to be more...subdued." _Probably_ _because there's a days worth of meds in them_. "Let's take a walk, shall we?" He phrased it like I had an option. When you're a shrink, you never want to make your patient feel like they're forced into anything. It's not a healthy environment for shares and cares. Best to let patients think everything is their idea. This guy was good.

I followed as, instead of taking me inside his office, he began to walk the hall. His suit was clean-cut, his expression relaxed, his pace easy. It was at odds with the backdrop and the ghost of a five o'clock shadow hidden under his chin. There was a speck of blood behind his ear.

"Shaving incident?" I asked, gesturing to his ear when he looked confused.

"What? Oh, that." Unconsciously he lifted his hand to the dot, rubbing at it, a small frown on his face. "I'm afraid my thirty years of life haven't equipped me with the skills to handle a razor on four hours of sleep." He chuckled. "Enough about my morning habits." He waved a hand, brushing off his early-morning ineptitude. "I would ask if you're nervous, but I think we both know that would be redundant."

I nodded, twisting my hair around my finger without realising. I dropped it quickly when one of Daddy's warnings played in my head.

Dr Arkham followed the motion with his eyes. "I'm afraid there won't be much of a grace period." He half-smiled. "I'm a big believer in 'in at the deep end'. Myself or Dr Leland will sit in on your first few sessions, and then it'll be down to you." He rested a reassuring hand on my shoulder, squeezing a little. Probably imagining his own first day. When he moved his hand away, that teeny speck of blood had left a dot on my shoulder.

I cleared my throat to dislodge the nausea. I swear they mix that hospital smell in with the paint. "I'm glad for the opportunity, Doctor." My not-exactly-necessary glasses were sliding down my nose. I pushed them back in place, looking up at him.

He nodded. "Practical experience is invaluable for a young psychiatrist." He leaned in a little, lowering his voice. "Of course, you're aware of our more unusual patient roster."

"Yeah, you've got some real _characters_." _Nervous joking._ Unlike nervous mirroring, that one was a personality flaw.

Surprised, he laughed. "Very apt. Yes, we have a wide range of disorders, manias and psychoses. Some more 'professionally interesting' than others." He was quiet for a moment, brooding. Almost immediately he snapped out of it, turning his eyes back to mine. "Enough to keep you occupied, I'm sure. Right." He clapped his hands together. "I was thinking we could have a tour, and then I'll give you the relevant patient files to look over. Read through them tonight and in the morning, we'll get started. How does that sound?"

"Lead the way."

He shook his head as he went, amused. His coat gleamed greenish under the cheap fluorescent strip lights as he pointed out various fixtures. The light, unexpected humour began to dissipate as we headed deeper into the bowels of Arkham. Like moving closer to a black hole, the lights seemed to flicker, as though all the energy was being slowly sucked toward the centre.

The Doc's monologue faded out as I took in my surroundings. I was really _inside_ Arkham Asylum. I'd been reading about this place for _years._ Wouldn't you, if you grew up in the shadow of Gotham's most notorious institution? Everyone loves a good horror story. In our secret spaces, we all like to read about the creatures that hide in the cracks of society. Me? I wanted to understand them. Identify.

 _Cure._

Doctor A's relaxed pace became a little more controlled. We were entering the patient quarters. _He portrays calm, but he feels it too. The building itself is beyond redemption._ Psychologist Harleen tilted her glasses. I concurred. I knew Arkham was no holiday camp, but I didn't expect it to feel so legit. As if the characteristics of the residents had soaked into the linoleum and the building, like a giant sponge, retained it all within the walls. Sweat, syringe contents, vomit, blood. Arkham was a dragon, hoarding its treasures. Walking in the door felt like being swallowed up.

Only one inmate I'd heard of who'd managed to tame it.

There were no pictures on the greyed-out walls. I don't know why I thought there'd be pictures. Not landscapes or anything hokey like that. More, spooky portraits of past curators. Curators, was that the right word? Like the inmates were art.

Terrible, terrible art. I swallowed a nervous laugh, felt it travel all the way to my unsettled stomach.

I realised then that there were no moans coming from the cells, no cries. No, these inmates weren't scared. They didn't know fear. Only pain, and anger. Only the mind-bending whirligig of medicated miasma. Whispers ran like a river, the occasional muffled shout as delirium broke the shell. I'd heard they overmedicated at Arkham, but jeez. I thought I heard someone whistling the theme to _Looney Tunes_ in a distant cell.

"It seems like you've drawn the short straw, doesn't it?" Doctor Arkham chuckled grimly. "Not quite the glamour medical school prepared you for, I'm sure."

I blinked. "Well, actually Doctor Ark—Jeremiah, I asked to be put on placement here." A sneaky blush crept across my cheeks. _Dammit, control yourself._ Involuntary blushing. It's a real pain in the a—butt.

 _Great going, Harls,_ secret Harleen rolled her metaphorical eyes. _Now he's gonna think you're a crazy_.

 _Don't talk like that_ , I scolded her. _They're not 'crazies'_. _They're people._

"Is that so?" He asked in an off-hand way, his focus seemingly on the paint peeling from the walls. He was using psych-voice on me.

"It is." He turned to me and I met his gaze, letting psychologist-Harleen shine through. He sucked in a cheek, surveying me.

"Psychology isn't about the glamour, Doctor Arkham. Not for me, anyway. Too many psychologists forget that patients are people, y'know? Underneath those fried neurons, encephalitic vesicles and dysfunctional dopamine d2 receptors that write the papers, there's an actual… human." It came out more forcefully than I'd intended. I bit my lip, worried I'd overstepped.

He rubbed a hand across his jaw. "I'm afraid you may not find many humans here. A lot of our longest-dwelling residents left those vestiges behind a long time ago."

' _Vestiges'. There's a word you don't hear every day._

 _Shut up!_

"Isn't that why they're called vestiges? Because they hold on, even when they become otiose?"

Otiose: Redundant, pointless. _I can talk the talk too, Doctor A_. Daddy would be proud.

"If you manage to salvage some humanity in here, Doctor Harleen Quinzel, I'll personally check myself in." He chuckled, holding two fingers up for _Scout's_ _honour_.

I raised both eyebrows. "That's a hefty wager, Doctor A."

"Doctor A?" A small frown creased his forehead.

Oops. "Sorry."

"No, no bother. It's just... Never mind. Although, as I said, Jeremiah is fine."

"Always better to retain your authority, Doctor A. You are my boss, after all. In a place like this, lines are important. As in, of the not-crossing kind."

He nodded, acquiescing. "Truer words never spoken, Harleen."

An alarm tore through the air.

His face paled. "Oh dear." His bright tone belied his expression. "It appears your wager is about to be tested. Shall we?" He started back down the hall, half-running. Again, I followed. Thank God childhood dance lessons taught me how to run in heels.

"Me?"

"We're a tad understaffed at present, actually. Not to be indelicate, but it's one of the reasons we were happy to take on someone without experience. Apologies," he conceded when my face fell. "It's nothing against your character. Your transcript was excellent. It's simply that Arkham takes a special kind of disposition, one that usually takes several years to acquire."

We were getting closer to the alarm, the shrill pealing scraping goosebumps up my skin. A maniacal laugh harmonised with the screeching. I shook my head, sure I'd imagined it. On my first day? No way.

Doctor A picked up the pace, frantically checking his pockets.

There were a set of double doors at the end of the hall, behind which some sort of mass brawl appeared to be occurring. Wait a second. Was that… _music?_

 _Bohemian Rhapsody_? Seriously?

Doctor A crashed into the door at speed. I think he expected it to be barricaded, but alas, he fell into the room with the grace of a drunk mime, recovering himself in time to duck a swing from a freaking huge patient whose scrubs were already spattered with something I didn't think was ketchup. He slipped, his head bouncing against the floor. _Not one for forward planning, this Doctor A._

I skidded behind him, pausing at the threshold.

It looked like some kind of mess hall, 'mess' being the operative word. Blood, food and hell knew what else pasted the walls, the floor. Several orderlies hid behind an upturned table. Others wrestled with patients, skidding on the slick ground. One orderly landed a swift kick to a male patient's skull, putting him out of commission. I gasped. _What happened to 'calm and subdue'?_ Psychologist Harleen was incensed.

 _Effective, though_ , secret Harleen mused.

Aside from the orderlies' makeshift barricade, there wasn't a stick of furniture standing, except for a single table, on which stood a strikingly familiar figure.

Yeah, I should definitely be running. To get help. Or, you know, to not die on my first day at Arkham. I'd really rather not be that much of a cliché. More funerals than fun days, so I read.

Professional curiosity fixed me in place. I'd known when I came to Arkham my chances of ever being assigned to the Joker were non-existent. I was pretty sure they weren't even therapizing him anymore. Some things were…unfixable.

This might be my only opportunity to glimpse the Clown himself.

 _You're being ridiculous_. _Go find somebody, now! Doctor Arkham could be seriously hurt._ Psychologist Harleen shoved me toward the door. I took a step backwards.

 _But then again, ain't this the stuff your books are made of, Harls? Here it is, in the bonafide flesh_. My worse half pulled at me, tugging me on.

The music seemed to swell to a crescendo as I examined the haunting silhouette. He was directing the chaos like a maestro, pale arms raised, back to the door. Unmistakeable green hair, slicked back despite his Arkham-issued duds. Somehow hearing the double doors crash against their respective walls, he turned. I sucked in a breath.

His eyes pierced me, even across the distance.

"Cease fire!" He swept his arms down with a flourish. At his command, everything stopped. The music cut out, leaving only the muffled groans of the injured. Somewhere in the corner of my eye, I could see a person lying in an awfully large pool of blood for someone who was still ticking.

I couldn't bring myself to check, too transfixed on the Joker.

He stalked toward me. My feet were glued to the floor. I couldn't bring myself to breathe, let alone run. It was like being approached by a shark. _Stay_... _still_. Only my eyes followed his movement as he moved through the wreckage. The closer he came, the more impossible he seemed. Clover-green hair. Unnaturally pale skin stretched over cutting cheekbones, giving rise to dark hollows, his lips a red slash against his chemical pallor. His scrubs hung from his lithe frame.

I'd always imagined his face would be powdery, like he was wearing stage makeup. In reality it was smooth, like white marble. It looked cold.

If I reached out, my fingertips would brush his scrubs. I swallowed, bile burning my throat. His eyes followed the movement, saw my hands clenched into fists. Skimmed my shiny new name badge.

The red slash painted itself into an impossible smile.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the audience, allow me to welcome a brand new player." He extended his arms with a flourish as the patients looked on. "Introducing Doctor Harleen _Quinzel_." He drew out my name like he was exhaling smoke from a cigarette. I heard Doctor A groan beside me.

Sweat pooled in the small of my back.

"Doctor Quinzel," he purred, leaning close enough to touch. "Welcome to the show."

* * *

 **AN: Okay, so I've just reworked this Chapter because a few things have been niggling at me. I feel better now. Aaaand breathe. Working on Chapter Three as we speak so that should be up within the next few days. I also can't read anyone's reviews at the moment which is a real pain in the a—butt.**

 **Hope everyone's enjoying this as much as I am. So difficult to get well-known characters _just_ right. I welcome constructive criticism. **

**Also, there won't be insta-love in this fic. I just can't buy a Joker who would go gaga for the first gal who peaked his interest. I want to see how he falls for her.**


	2. Down With The Sickness

_Everyone's mad here._

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Chapter Two.

Down With The Sickness.

* * *

At his words a few of the patients seemed to fall into position, one guarding the quivering orderlies, another stalking the room, checking for any hide-and-go-seekers. Others didn't seem to care what was happening, as long as they were outside of supervision. There was a pretty obvious pattern—the Joker's goonies were the ones who'd been cheeking their meds, clear enough to follow some semblance of a plan. The others were just along for the ride.

Ever heard the phrase ' _organised chaos_ '?

"You could always see this as a _welcome party_ , Doctor." The Joker's accent was thick, hard to place. His syllables overdrawn, his 's's sibilant. I'd never heard anyone sound like that in my life, and that was coming from someone with pretty weird inflection herself.

"I mean, I'd _love_ to pretend this little tete-a-tete was initiated in your honour, but then dear old Doctor A doesn't let me in on his interviews. Did you interview, Doctor Quinzel? Or did he hire you on the strength of your…obvious _skill_." He cocked his head, teeth bared. He began circling me, his eyes roving over my body. Good thing the blood in my body was pumping my racing heartbeat, otherwise I'd be rocking a hell of a blush. He wasn't checking me out. It was more like _sizing me up_ , seeing if I was worthy of his attention. I wondered if this was what lobsters felt like when someone picked them out for puddin'.

I'd always gotten the 'clown' thing, that was obvious. The 'prince' part was getting clearer. He wasn't a trickster, in it for squirting flowers and whoopee cushions. This guy was legit. I wasn't sure if I should run or kiss his ring as he stopped before me. That line from _A Knight's Tale_ popped into my head at the expression on his face. He weighed me. He measured me. And he found me…wanting.

 _Is this what an out-of-body experience feels like?_

 _You're a therapist, Harls. You should probably know that._

"Wakey, wakey, _Doctor_." He waved a hand in front of my face, a muscle twitching in his pale jaw. Crap, he'd asked me a question.

 _Careful, Harleen. Calm and subdue._ Psychologist Harleen had her clipboard, taking detailed notes.

Secret Harleen wet herself laughing at that one. _Yeah, right, Harls. And while you're at it, there's an unfriendly cobra at Gotham Zoo. Wanna try taming_ that?

"Well, I'm not sure, Mr… Joker. I'm guessing Doctor Arkham spoke to my tutors when I applied."

He raised an eyebrow, steepling his fingers. God dammit. Letting that slip was a mistake. The Joker had taken me for a full-fledged therapist, not a recently-qualified grad completing her very first practical placement.

"Well, well, _well_ , _Doctor_ Quinzel—or should that be _Harleen_ , or perhaps even… itty bitty baby _Harley._ " The way he growled my name made me shiver. "Harley-doll on her very first day as a shiny pink shrink. I bet Daddy and Mommy Quinzel are so _proud_." He pressed a hand to his heart in a mock show of emotion.

I grimaced before I could stop myself. I've never been great at hiding my feelings—I was working on it.

He grinned. "Oooh, _there's_ a therapy session waiting to happen." He wagged a finger at me. "Maybe we should switch places, Harley-doll. They got some _real_ nice ways of making you talk." He scowled at the memory.

The air was still ringing. _Why is no one answering the alarm?_

"That would be because they're all already here, _Harley_. Well," he glanced around, pursing his lips, "The underlings. Looks like the rest of the whitecoats are _off duty._ Shame."

For a second I wondered if his madness was so acute he could pick thoughts out of my head.

 _Duh, Harleen. You said it out loud._

"Uh, boss?" A patient with serious five o'clock shadow and a skull tattoo decorating his face piped up, scratching the back of his skull. One impression: Grunt worker. I inwardly applauded him for having the balls to speak up.

A few other patients-slash-inmates were watching us expectantly, unsure what to do now.

The Joker snarled. "Yes?" he snapped.

"The alarm's been goin' off a while now, I mean, don't you think we oughta—"

"Larry, Larry, _Larry_." The Joker tutted as he turned slowly on his heel. "Don't I think we ought to _what_?"

Larry's face went white. Whatever expression was on the Joker's face I was glad I couldn't see it. I got the feeling if he had a gun, Larry would be gone-zo.

"Nothin'."

The Joker stared at him a moment longer before turning back to me.

"As I was saying, terrible staffing." He kicked a table shard in the direction of an orderly, who squealed. "They really oughta put an ad out for some of those _candy strippers._ "

"You mean candystripers." Dazed, I spoke without thinking.

He slapped me so fast I didn't see it coming. My head snapped to the side. Something warm and wet dripped from my lip down onto my chin.

A female orderly gasped, a brunette with a pretty face marked by a hell of a scar that ran from her temple to the corner of her lip. A big guy with red hair was guarding her, alternating between tensing his muscles and twitching. He growled in her direction, tick jerking his chin, and she cowered, wetting herself. The liquid trickled across the floor. The red-haired patient whooped the trademark laugh of a Joker henchman before leaning down to dip his fingers in the puddle.

The Joker gripped my chin, jerking my face back toward his.

 _Craves attention_ , Psychologist Harleen chimed in.

 _No shit, Doc_. Secret Harleen scoffed.

His pupils flared. "Excuse my manners, Doctor Quinzel. Now, me, I don't personally see the appeal," he carried on discussing strippers like nothing had happened, flicking imaginary lint from his fingers. "Where's the fun in a gal who's paid to please, I ask you—but the boys, they like what they like, and the first rule of well, _ruling_ , is to keep your loyal subjects... satisfied."

Well, he was being honest about one thing—far as I knew, the Joker had never even looked sideways at a woman. I mean, the guy practically wrote the book on convictions, but I charge you to find a single sexual assault.

"Let me guess, today's satisfaction is brought to you by a stroll outside Arkham?" Secret Harleen jumped out of my mouth before I could stop her. What was _wrong_ with me today?

He hooted. "This one's got spunk."

His hand gripped my neck like a vice, slamming me back against the wall. Pain exploded across the back of my skull. A few patients giggled maniacally. His face was inches from mine.

"Motherfucker," I breathed, dazed. "Ow." Tears filled my eyes.

He squeezed, his hot breath brushing my cheek as he leaned in. "Y'know, you don't talk much like the other shrinks who've shrunk here, _Harley_. That is one dirty mouth." His stained lips were a flat line, pale blue eyes narrowed.

And now I was blushing. _Blushing_.

 _Don't you ever curse,_ _Harleen. Cursing is for prostitutes and drug addicts._ My Daddy's voice echoed in my brain. I squeezed my eyes shut.

"Is that a blush? Is the itty-bitty baby therapist scared?" The Joker took on a whiny tone, mocking my voice. He pouted, batting his eyelids.

"I'd have to be pretty dumb not to be. I mean, we didn't exactly cover this in Psych 101, y'know?" On the outside I was all, _be cool, Harls,_ but yeah, when your voice shakes and your hands are all sweaty it kinda gives the game away. "I'm not really sure what my game plan is here." Well, I'd thrown professionalism out of the window already. In for a penny and all that.

I wanted to tell him to screw himself, but a) I'd already had my head bashed into a wall, and b) I was supposed to be a therapist.

Obviously not a very _good_ therapist.

I was breathing fast, my head was throbbing and I could feel tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.

For a moment, he studied me. His face was unreadable as he dragged a slow, cold finger down my cheek. I shivered. I wanted to squeeze my eyes shut. His eyes narrowed as I stuck my chin out a little stronger.

Underneath the mocking, he was calculating. Where did I fit in to his plan, his _piece de resistance_? The music, the timing. I was the spanner in his mind-factory.

And then, he smiled. My heart dropped a beat.

"The only game plan that matters here is mine, babydoll. You and me are gonna take a little walk. But first."

He took a black strip from his pocket, fastening it around my neck. It felt cold. Alive.

"A gift from the Batman. Premium-grade shock collar. No mean feat getting this sucker off. Good old Doctor A has the button right there in his pocket. Too bad he's gone night-night."

The Joker's eyes slid sideways to the Doctor lying prone on the floor, his lip curling.

Knowledge of the Doctor must've fallen out of my ear when the Joker smacked my skull against concrete because I'd forgotten he was even here. Fear tightened my stomach.

"Will you—are you gonna kill him?"

"Lucky for you, as Larry so _graciously_ reminded me, we're on a tight schedule." His narrowed eyes flicked to Larry. Larry looked like he wished the ground would swallow him.

"Although..." the Joker sauntered over to the Doctor, then stamped down hard on Doctor A's leg with an audible _crack_. He grinned. "Waste not, want not."

I looked on in horror as Doctor A shot awake, fighting for air like a drowning man. He balked at the sight of his leg, leaning to the side and vomiting.

 _I feel ya, Doc._

"Wakey wakey, Doctor." The Joker leaned down so they were on a level. "So good of you to join us."

Doctor A fumbled in his pocket. Before I could shout out, fire rocked me to my core, singeing my nerves, sending shockwaves through my brain. I collapsed, my hands splayed on the cold floor, a thin trail of drool and blood dripping from my lip.

"My God, Harleen, I'm sorry—"

There was a dull thud, a sharp intake of breath. "That's what you get for being trigger happy, _Jerry_. Told you that buzzer would come back to bite you. Lucky for you, as I was telling our newest Doc over there—and thank you for _that_ , by the way, any more of old Joan would simply bore me to tears—we've got a schedule to keep and time's a-ticking. Be seeing you real soon, Doctor A."

He straightened. "C'mon, Harley." He held a pale hand out.

I blinked. Did he really think I'd voluntarily jump up after him? He _was_ crazy.

His face darkened. The shadows under his cheekbones seemed to elongate. "Don't make me count to three."

On shaking legs, I pushed off from the wall. It was hard to remember how to walk in heels as I closed the distance between us. My stomach twisted and pulled with the desire to turn and run. I was going against every single itty bitty molecule of my body, and it made me feel…strange.

"That's a good girl." His words were mocking, but his eyes flashed dangerously. He gripped my wrist.

"You don't need to take her with you, no one will stop you—" Doctor A pleaded, trying desperately to stand and failing.

"Well, I have to take _someone_. Are you volunteering, Jerry?" the Joker turned his piercing eyes on Doctor A.

The Doctor's pale, sweating face gleamed under the fluorescents, but he said nothing. I looked away.

 _Not such a nice guy after all, huh, Doc._

"That's what I thought." The Joker cocked his head for a second, as though he was listening for something. Suddenly, the alarm cut out, leaving my ears ringing.

Then, the lights.

Once we were plunged into darkness, the screaming started.

I was yanked forward, no choice but to follow. My heel stuck in something squishy and I almost blew right there.

We passed through some doors. The wails faded as they swung shut.

I didn't know who else was following. Had no idea where we were going. There was only a cold, strong hand pulling me forward through the dark. Brief spots of green and red emergency light lit up the bright emerald hair of the Clown Prince of Crime as he dragged me through Arkham.

Only one question burned in the darkness.

"Are you going to kill me?" My voice was trembled. I didn't have the presence of mind to be embarrassed about it.

He stopped abruptly. I smacked into him, backpedalling quickly when he turned.

He advanced on me, backing me up against the wall, a pale hand splayed on either side of my head. He leaned in far too close.

"I'm not gonna kill ya, Harley."

His smile stretched in the dark.

"I'm just gonna hurt ya really, _really_ bad."

Electricity tore through me before I blacked out.

* * *

 **AN: Seriously inspired by this. Also, can't believe I've got reviews already! I was a bit uncertain about this Chapter but a review from xxxshadesofRed got me off my ass and editing. Probably gonna tweak the first Chapter a little here and there because I'm an unsatisfied perfectionist. Also, I've read some seriously amazing fics on here—shout out to** _ **Therapy**_ **by PuddinFreakyStyle, that shit cray. I also concur with their feels that too many Harley x Joker origin fics start with insta-love. I'm trying to paint a more realistic picture. I think.**

 **P.S. Feel free to see the Chapter titles as soundtracks. That is sort of the idea.**

 **** Tweaked this Chapter now, too. Hopefully the next will be finished soon. Also, I'm getting traffic, but not as many reviews—not sure if that means this is bad or not? Might end up taking it down to re-edit as a whole. Hmmm.**


	3. Live And Let Die

_Madness is a disease. Careful you don't breathe it in._

* * *

Chapter 3.

Live And Let Die.

* * *

When my eyes opened, I could see stars. I blinked, hard.

Nope, still there.

Okay, I was outside.

How did I get outside?

A violent shiver rocked me.

 _Aftershocks_ , Psychologist Harleen supplied.

 _Yowza._

My skin felt cold. I raised my head, which made the world twirl and spill like I was on the tilt-a-whirl. I stretched out my arms, feeling. Concrete on my right side. Thin air on the other.

I scrambled back. I'd been lying on the edge of a sixty foot drop.

I was on the roof of Arkham Asylum.

Memories flickered. A wide, red smile. Unnatural green hair. My brain pulsed with the pressure. I gripped the sides of my head to slow the roar before I realised the roaring was coming from _outside_ my skull.

Hovering overhead was a shiny black helicopter, blades ripping up the air. A rope ladder swung back and forth beneath it like a trapeze. My vision came into full focus and I almost choked. The Joker stood with his back to me, clover-green hair bright against the Gotham sky. Somehow he'd acquired his trademark purple greatcoat, the gusts from the helicopter agitating the hem. And between him and the helicopter? The black figure that haunted the same skyline.

Batman.

"Let her go, Joker." Batman's voice was gravel on ice, lifting the tiny hairs on my arms. It occurred to me then that I'd never actually heard him speak before. "This is between us."

Strange day. Lots of new voices.

"Sounding a little possessive there, Batman. Someone should really teach you how to _share_." The Joker taunted, pacing, totally at ease despite the imminent danger. He didn't feel fear. He thrived on it. You could almost feel him breathing it in. It was the gasoline that lit the fire behind his eyes.

I suppressed a nervous laugh, meaning what came out was somewhere between a giggle and a snort. I slapped a hand over my mouth.

They turned to look at me. The Joker was grinning, pleased he'd amused his audience and Batman… had a mask on.

"Sorry," I squeaked.

The Joker cackled. "'Sorry'." He mimicked me. He turned back to Batman. "What do you say, Bats? Shall we accept her apology?"

Batman ignored him. "Another hostage? You're getting predictable, Joker." He was losing patience, his fingers flexing. Clearly, Batman didn't enjoy the Joker's foreplay. "I'd tell you to face me like a man, but we both know you don't have it in you."

 _You realise they're distracted. Right now would_ probably _be your best chance to get gone._

I began crawling toward the exit, walking still beyond me. My worn muscles shook with effort.

"Harley-doll, _stay where you are._ " His voice was frozen menace, slipping through his teeth like helium escaping from the canister.

I froze, not daring to look.

Satisfied I had obeyed, he continued. "See, that's the difference between you and I, _Bats_." He drew out the 's' in a hiss. "You can't shame me. To _shame_ requires that someone _have shame_ to be exploited. Your problem _there_ —" He dipped a hand into his pocket. Batman started toward him. "I don't have any. For example."

There was an audible click, then the roof between them exploded.

On instinct I curled into a ball. A wave of melting heat washed over me as shards pelted my back. Smoke filled my nostrils, making me gag.

A cold hand yanked me out of my hedgehog, bringing me face to face with the narrowed eyes of the Joker. I might've been delirious, but it looked like he gave me a once-over.

But that would've made no sense because the next thing he did was press a gun to my temple.

He started backing us slowly toward the helicopter, my back flush against his chest, his eyes fixed on Batman's prone figure. I had no choice but to lean on him to stay upright. I was coughing, my eyes streaming. My hair had come loose, the wind whipping strands across my face. My lips felt numb. I should've been terrified. My whole body should've been trembling with the urge to run.

A funny thing happened instead. My heartbeat, instead of speeding up, began to slow down. The electricity must've done something to my brain because where there should be fear, there was… _calm_.

 _Possible delirium. Psychological overload has been known to cause mental retreat._

 _Well, that would explain why I feel like laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing…_

I felt my body relax, tension draining away like so much smoke. Ironically, the Joker tensed.

I was confusing him.

It satisfied me.

"He's right, you know." My voice was calm, conversational.

The Joker paused. I could almost hear my words rolling around in his head.

"Oh _yeah_ …?" He drew out the word, his grip tightening. Either he was interested in what the therapist with a death wish had to say, or he was warning me.

We had reached the helicopter. The Joker pointed the gun at me, gesturing for me to climb the swinging ladder.

"After you." He inclined his head, his teeth glinting in the same light that rippled down the barrel of the gun pointing squarely at my forehead.

I began to climb, gymnastic training kicking in as I wrapped my hands around the bars.

The Joker snorted impatiently behind me. "You didn't answer my _question_ , Harley. What is dear old Bats _right_ about?"

I'd be worried about having made him impatient, but then, he was gonna kill me anyway. "Hostages. It's predictable." Somewhere inside Psychologist Harleen was yelling at me. Secret Harleen sat on her.

"Well, I didn't realise I was dealing with an _expert_. Remind me to consult you next time." Despite the high wind, I heard him clearly. He was either amused or irritated. Or both.

"You do that." My voice was dreamy.

I reached the helicopter, pulling myself up. The bed of the bird titled and rolled beneath me like a ship. There were guys in there, but none of them moved to help, except for one dude with a dark beard and serious jawline—although he didn't help so much as grab me in a vice-like grip. I don't know where he thought I was going to go, exactly. When the Joker appeared, though, they jumped to his aid, pulling him to his feet and rolling the ladder back in.

He took over my captivity, the gun returning to its home against my temple as we stood perilously close to the edge to peer at the Bat below.

Batman groaned, pulling himself to his feet. Spiderweb cracks marked his suit.

The Joker leaned in, his cold cheek dangerously close to mine. For a moment, I thought he might bite me. "You've been real swell, Harley. How I _hate_ a crier." His voice rung with past irritation as he recalled previous, more annoying hostages. Then he grinned. Far be it from the Joker to let anything ruin his _escape_ _night_ _high_. Nothing touched him, not really. It was all a big game of Russian Roulette—he who shoots first, wins. "Remind me to bring you along next time. Although." Click. He cocked the gun. "Perhaps _not_."

I didn't flinch. My breathing was slow, steady.

I don't know why. I just didn't think he would shoot me. We hadn't been playing long enough for the game to end _yet_.

 _He's going to shoot you._ Psychologist Harleen.

 _Nah, I don't think so._ Secret Harleen.

 _That's because you're an idiot._

 _And you're an obnoxious b—_

"Last chance." Batman warned, but the explosion had knocked him for six. He was listing to one side. Jeez, talk about crappy gear. This guy was supposed to be down with the gadgets, but he hadn't figured out an explosion-proof suit?

"Ah, ah, ah, Batman. Do you really want to risk poor, sweet, _innocent_ Dr Quinzel? If this birdy goes down, I'm afraid she comes with it." He took a step closer to the edge. I could feel the buttons on his coat through my shirt, he was standing so close. My previously slow heart stuttered. Because of the height. And the danger.

"Hiding behind a woman? You're pathetic." Batman called.

"Well _that's_ sexist," I grumbled. One of the Joker's henchmen snorted.

The Joker laughed. I'd never get used to that sound. It was almost fascinating in its terrifying power. Like fear unleashed. You haven't tasted danger until you've heard Gotham's most dangerous psychopath amused.

"You know, Harley-doll, I'm _almost_ sorry to do this." He muttered. To Batman, he called, "I'm not the one with the fundamental weakness you call a _conscience_. See how well it serves you now."

Batman had palmed wicked sharp batarangs, poised to throw, but he couldn't get a clear line on the Joker with me in the way. And if he went for the pilot, we'd all go down. But if the Joker got away, he'd wreak havoc on Gotham. Lose one life, for many? No contest.

"It was real nice meeting you, Mr Joker." A short giggle escaped me. "The highlight of my short career."

He turned me to face him, my back to the open air. It was cold after being pressed against his chest. His eyes were alive, grin stretched wide. I was a funny pawn in his game. I kind of liked it. It made a change to being treated like a delicate glass doll.

"Let's see you _smile_." He ordered.

I couldn't help the grin. He placed his tattooed hand over my mouth, replacing my own smile with his tattooed one.

"Perhaps I _will_ keep you around, Doctor Quinzel." He purred. "But first…let's see if you can _live_ for me."

He shoved me backwards, and I was falling, falling. I reached, my fingers pale spiders as I pinwheeled. His eyes were fixed on me, his smiling mouth a straight line.

I heard a rush of wings as the Batman dove for me, but he wouldn't be fast enough. As the ground rushed up to meet me my gymnastic brain surfaced and I rolled, bracing for the spine-shaking impact and channelling the energy into a forward run that took me to the edge of the roof.

The Joker's laugh pierced the night as the helicopter rose into the sky. Batman took one look at me before disappearing over the side of the building. A moment later his engine growled as he followed his priority.

I was alone, a smoking hole between me and my exit, bedlam beneath as the staff no doubt fought to regain control of Arkham.

My own laugh burst into the darkness, slowly disintegrating into sobs as pain and reality crashed through me, leaving me curled up and cold on the floor.

* * *

 **AN: A little shorter than the other Chapters, but it had to end there; there'll be another one up before the end of the week! I'm so grateful to anyone who has taken the time to read and, as always, I appreciate constructive criticism. Hope everyone's had a good weekend and that you're all loving this as much as I am-anyone else interested to see how _Doctor Quinzel_ does after such a killer of a first day...?!**


	4. That Girl Is A Problem

_I need a gingerbread man. One who's always crazy, never calls me baby, that's the one that I need..._

* * *

Chapter Four.

That Girl Is A Problem.

* * *

 _Ring, ring, Daddy's home._ The Joker lounged in his gold throne, one leg hooked over the arm, narrowed eyes sweeping the perimeter of the club. Every person a potential target. Each body the possibility for _fun_. The glittering room sung with sex. Not that such things interested the Joker. Now the King had returned, danger hung in the air like a pendulum. Which way would it _swing_? The crowd _thrived_ on it, _lived_ for it, you could feel it in the air you _breathed_. You didn't visit _Grin_ to relax. There's a thin line between a laugh and a scream, and the Joker mastered the edge of hysteria. God help anyone who disrespected the King. He scanned the room like a cobra, knuckles flexing on his cane.

 _But still, there was…_ _something_ _. Somethingsomethingsomething. Something…_ not _._

His teeth, perhaps. After their little melee the other night Batman had gotten the jump on him, although to be fair to the Joker he'd left a good couple of canines embedded in Batman's fist. Doctor Thorne had fixed his bloody mess of a face—no charge for The Joker, of course, _with my compliments, Sir_ —and silver metal caps fixed his smile. He looked like a nightmare. Just another way for his face to match his _mind_. The 'Damaged' tattoo now scribed across his forehead was a love letter to the destruction.

A candystriped waitress giggled as she passed, crooking her finger in Frost's direction. Frost raised his glass in a universal salute of, _I'm good, thanks,_ maintaining his vigil from the gold embossed couch on the other side of the Joker's private booth.

"How 'bout you, Mister J?" She twirled her hair around her finger, popping her bubblegum.

A thrill of irritation ran up the Joker's spine. Lazily he rolled his head in her direction, watching as her face paled, pulse jumping in her neck. He bared his teeth, running his tongue over the metal. She almost tripped over herself in her rush to get away.

Frost was watching him, expressionless. So _serious_. _This_ guy's seen too many _Men_ _In_ _Black_ reruns.

"Why so _serious_?" The Joker drawled from behind his tattoo, his eyes fixed on Frost. "Sexual frustration is bad for the soul...so I hear." His trademark laugh swelled the booth.

Frost waited for him to finish. "I wouldn't know about that." His face was impassive as he nursed his scotch.

The Joker leered. "Oh? Found yourself a lady, Frost? A Snow _Queen_?"

"You know me, boss." He took a swallow of scotch. "I don't do long term." His gaze was constantly on the move, taking stock of their surroundings the way he was paid to. Still, it wouldn't hurt for him to _lighten up._

The Joker narrowed his eyes, fingers tapping his cane. Sensing his boss's impatience, Frost acquiesced. "There was this one chick the other night. Really great ra—"

" _Please,_ Jonny." The Joker interrupted before he could finish, rolling his jaw. "Anyone would think this was a den of... _iniquity_." He grinned, cold metal smile throwing sparks along the wall.

Frost shrugged, used to his boss's mercurial moods. "Sorry." A guy and a girl moved a little too close to the booth, curiosity getting the better of them. At a look from Frost they hurried on, heads down.

The Joker gestured vaguely in the direction of the scotch bottle. Frost poured him a glass, neat. The Joker's hand shot out as Frost handed it over, white fingers gripping his wrist, the famous smile emblazoned against Jonny's skin.

"You know who had a really _great rack_?"

"Who?" Frost hovered in place as the Joker squeezed his wrist to the edge of pain. Whatever mood the Joker was in, you went along for the ride, and prayed you didn't get caught in the crossfire.

"That new _therapist_ at Arkham. Jerry had two reasons for hiring her, and they weren't her brain and her smile." He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Frost cracked a rare smile. "Oh yeah?"

"Oh _yeah_. Not that it reflects badly on _her_." His face darkened, pupils flaring. "Jerry's just too stupid to notice anything else."

"She got a brain, this one?"

"She's got a _something_. " The Joker toyed with his glass before knocking back the contents. Licking his lips, he muttered. "Pretty sure she's just as _crazy_ as the cooks she coddles."

"You like her?" Frost asked offhand.

The Joker threw back his head and howled. His head snapped back down, teeth bared, his eyes boring into Frost's. Palming his knife, he stabbed it deep into the table, right between his employee's thumb and forefinger. Frost's eyes widened a fraction.

" _Like_ her? Oh _no_ , Frost, you've got it all _wrong_. She's..." he twirled a hand in the air, looking for the right flavour of word.

"Unfinished business?" Frost supplied, carefully removing his fingers from around the blade still quivering in the table. "You did leave her alive." He refilled the Joker's glass, setting it on the table. The golden-brown liquid trembled with the beat of the music, the singer complaining loudly about how _t_ _hat girl is god damn problem._

"Right after she took a little _swan dive_." The Joker smirked. "Who knew shrinks bounced...?" He drew a second knife from his belt, twirling it between his fingers.

"Shrinks might not, but gymnasts do." Frost pulled a file from under his jacket. "I took the liberty of looking her up. To satisfy my own curiosity, of course." He clarified when the Joker's jaw tightened. He wasn't watching Frost; his eyes were on the spinning disco ball, the clubbers beneath, but Frost still felt the chill.

"Taking _liberties_ now, Frost?" The Joker's voice was honeyed as he tested the point of the knife against his skin. A bead of blood welled, red against white.

"Sorry, boss. But, you have to admit, a girl must be pretty sp— _interesting_ for you to think she's worth mentioning." Frost was always careful to maintain _calm_ around the Joker, but he forgot the Joker was the living radar for _fear_. He could smell the scares Frost kept hidden in the secret spaces behind his eyes.

The Joker pointed the knife at him. "I admit _nothing._ " His neurons popped and buzzed at the sound of Frost's heart speeding up. All the little television sets in the Joker's brain were set to _Channel_ _FREAKOUT FROST._ Time to have a little _fun_? HmMmMm. He'd missed out on the _therapist_. She'd messed with his mind somehow—which was no _mean feat_ , his mind was already M.E.S.S.E.D. Although, watching her fly had been pretty _interesting_. And when she'd pulled those moves out of nowhere, wow! _There_ was a grand finale. Not like this...boredom. Where was a good _heist_ when he needed one? He could skewer Frost in a second. _One shish kebab, comin' right up!_ The Joker's head rolled as he contemplated.

After a moment, he sheathed the knife. " _Well_?" He gritted his teeth, metal on metal. "Sharing is _caring_."

Frost obliged, handing the folder over. The Joker flipped through. Doctor Harleen Quinzel's life flickered before his eyes. Boring, boring, oooh, suspended from school when she was 16 for trying one _measly cigarette_ , Daddy made her write an _apology_ letter, how _sweet_... Daddy looks like the _military_ type, bet his little Pumpkin couldn't put a _toe_ out of line... Gymnastic medals, awards, graduation photo, a scholarship, a smorgasbord of _normal_ , so _vanilla_ , so _quaint_ , so...

"What's this?" He muttered, pulling a page from the file. The rest of the pages fluttered to the ground like ghostly butterflies.

His grin flashed like a lighter igniting. The flame grew bigger as he read.

This. Now _this_ was interesting.

~ oOoOo ~

"Ow."

My head throbbed as the bright light hit my pupils, no doubt shrinking them into teeny pupil-dots. Pretty soon, I was gonna get sick of waking up in different places. Yesterday, the roof. Today, what looked an awful lot like the hospital. Next thing I knew I'd be waking up in a cell in Arkham.

"I'm not in Arkham, am I?" I wondered, more to myself than anyone else. You can imagine my surprise when someone other than one of my alter-egos answered.

"No, you're not in Arkham."

I tilted my head to the side. A familiar redhead was perched in the chair beside my bed, sewing. Her fingers were deft as she pulled thread through hemp. It was then that I noticed the flowers. Lots of flowers. _Wayyy_ too many flowers.

I sneezed. "Sale at the market, Pammy?" I asked innocently.

She gave me a look. "Ha, ha, ha." She deadpanned. "If I have to sit in this sterile, chemical-filled room, I'm going to do what I can to improve it."

"You say improve, I say overdo..."

"You don't get to say _anything._ Letting yourself get held hostage by the _Joker_ on your first day _."_ Her lip curled at the sound of his name. "Honestly." She jabbed the needle a little too forcefully into the fabric.

"Well, gee, Pammy, I didn't exactly invite him to take me up to the roof and drop me out of a _helicopter_."

She arched a brow, still sewing. How did she do that without looking? I'd have turned myself into a human voodoo doll by now.

"At least he didn't kill you." She sighed, resigning herself to my perceived idiocy.

"Yes, there is that." I mimicked her serious tone, grinning when a tiny smile tugged the corners of her lips.

I pulled myself into a sitting position. My gaze slid pointedly to the cup on my side table. Rolling her eyes, Pam offered me the straw.

"You're not incapable."

I ignored her, sucking noisily. She grimaced.

"Thanks _ever_ so." I gave her a big smile as she moved the cup away once I was finished, setting it back on the table. "You have such a nurturing instinct, Pammy, I don't know why you didn't become a nurse."

She flicked a petal at me. "I preferred it when you were asleep."

"Asleep, unconscious, potato, potahto..."

"Although," she interrupted, "the sleep-talking was getting annoying."

 _Sleep talking_? Psychologist Harleen raised an eyebrow.

Secret Harleen rolled her eyes.

"Sleep talking?" Why did I get the feeling my subconscious was about to bite me in the ass?

Pammy pointed her needle at me. "You're curious about the Joker."

I flushed. " _Professionally_."

"Potato, _potahto_ ," she quoted, giving up on her sewing with an exasperated huff. Her green eyes were accusatory. "You shouldn't be _anything_ about the Joker. He's not your patient."

 _Yet_ , Secret Harleen muttered.

"Pardon?" Pam's eyes flashed.

 _Oops._ "Nothing."

 _Textbook attention jealousy. Some might call this a toxic friendship._ Psychologist Harleen folded her arms.

 _Yeah, but she's so much FUN!_ Secret Harleen popped her bubblegum.

For a second it looked like Pam might lose her temper, but then she breathed deep. The flowers seemed to lean in her direction. When she opened her eyes, they were the calm green of summer grass—instead of the angry green of poison ivy that wanted to kill you.

"Look." She exhaled through her nose. "I just don't think curiosity about the Joker—professionally or otherwise," she clarified when I opened my mouth to interject. "Is a good and or healthy idea. I prefer you when you're breathing."

"I thought you preferred it when I was asleep?"

"You breathe when you're asleep, don't you?" she snapped.

"I don't know, Pammy, I've never actually _seen_ myself sleep—" She put her hand over my mouth.

"I'm not playing, Harls. This is serious."

I don't know how she expected me to respond given she'd muzzled me. I raised an eyebrow pointedly. She dropped her hand. I grinned.

"It's so cute that you're worried about me."

She gritted her teeth.

I sighed dramatically, putting a hand to my forehead. "I think you're right though, Pammy. I'm obsessed. I need...clownselling."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I fucking give up."

"Aw, don't give up on me now." I gave her a playful punch on the shoulder, turning serious when she didn't crack a smile. I dropped the act, tilting my head until she met my gaze. "Seriously, Pam, I'm fine. Don't worry about me." I let Psychologist Harleen take the reins. "I'm still a little delirious from whatever mind tricks the Joker was pulling, that's all. He's out of Arkham, now, anyway. Gone. Poof. And even if he came back, I'd never be assigned. Too much personal contact with a patient is bad for a therapeutic relationship. Besides," I reassured her, "I'd turn it down, anyway."

She looked doubtful. "Would you, though? He'd make a hell of a case study. PhD material."

I shrugged. "The guy dropped me out of a _helicopter_. Never seeing him again would be too soon."

 _You're lying._ Psychologist Harleen's eyes were wide _._

 _Would you look at that, for once I agree with McBoring._

 _A case like this could make our career,_ I hissed at them both. _Not_ _that_ _it_ _matters_ , _because a) never in a million would Doctor A assign me; b) hello, the jack is out of the box for the foreseeable future and c) I will do the responsible thing and ignore the urge. Okay?_

"Good." Pam picked up her sewing again, satisfied. "By the way," she wrinkled her nose, "Can you let your boss know that chemically enhanced flowers are bad for natural plant life? I won't throw them away or anything, it's not their fault, but still. Gross."

"They sent flowers?" If they sent flowers, that meant I wasn't fired. Something I'd been trying not to think about since I opened my eyes.

"I assume so. Your parents don't know you're here." I said a silent hallelujah at that one. "And the rest are mine. Who else is there?"

I shook my head. "Beats me."

It was then that I noticed the big, unnaturally purple roses Pam had tucked away behind her vases, hiding the offensive blooms behind more natural flora. They looked innocent enough, except for their hue. An impossible colour. A _crazy_ colour.

A feeling like cold water trickled down my spine.

"Yeah," I swallowed, eyeing the bright purple flowers. "It must be work."

* * *

 **AN: I've got a running playlist going for this fic, hit me up in the reviews if any of y'all are interested. Seriously, guys, thank you to anyone who has taken the time to review. It really means the world that you'd even think it was worth commenting, so thank you. PFS, you're a doll. Also, thought I'd mention I have a degree in psychology, in case you guys are wondering where the psychobabble comes from. So, it should be at least *semi* accurate, haha. Thanks for reading, hopefully I'll get chance to update again this weekend! As always, constructive criticism is more than welcome. Serious love for you all, both reviewers and silent readers. You rock. If you're looking for another fic, I'd recommend Therapy by PuddinFreakyStyle or You Don't Own Me by ElleQuinzel—both kickass writers with original tone that stay true. Until next time...**


	5. Figure It Out

_I think of myself as an intelligent, sensitive human being with the soul of a clown which always forces me to blow it at the most important moments._

* * *

Chapter 5.

Figure It Out.

* * *

Nothing'll make you feel more like vomiting than your Momma and your boss in the same room with the intention of discussing you.

Double vomit if it's a party.

Double double vomit if it's in your Momma's new husband's swanky ass mansion where everything is a new and exciting shade of cream and someone takes your coat when you come in the door.

I wondered if Momma would like the roses I'd for some reason taken back to my apartment, to brighten her place up a bit. At the moment they just sat there on my kitchen counter, in all their purpleness. Staring at me.

The brightest thing _here_ was probably Bruce Wayne. Mom's husband was a big cheese in Gotham, a shareholder in multiple jewellery stores and with a finger in the pie that was Wayne's steamship company. I didn't like to admit my current digs in Gotham Tower were courtesy of Edward Graves-through-Momma. They hadn't been married long. I'd only met the guy a handful of times but had him measured in a second—older guy, looked young enough for his age, on to his second wife as a result of a mid-life crisis and about ready to settle in his home life as long as he could keep growing business-wise. Satisfactory. No temper like Daddy, at least. Graves seemed happy to let me do my own thing and I was more than happy to leave them to it. The apartment played as a 'keep the kid happy, and the Mom's happy' kind of deal. Hey, you didn't hear me complaining. _Except when forced to attend events like this._ Shudder _._

Music and chit chat swelled the room. Urbane socialites mingled to tinkly piano music, congratulating each other on their mutual amazingness. It was nauseating. Doctor A looked as uncomfortable as I felt, tugging at his collar. It was the first time I'd seen him since the breakout. His five o'clock shadow had gotten worse, now more of a ten o'clock smudge, although I had to give him a break seeing as he was on crutches.

 _Are we holding a grudge?_ Psychologist Harleen had her clipboard out, tapping her pen against the top. _He didn't stand up for you, when the Jo—when_ he _gave him the chance to_.

 _Mmmmm, I don't think so. He barely knew us then. Besides, the guy's got a family. Family comes first._ Secret Harleen set herself up for a cartwheel, cheering when she stuck the landing.

Decision made.

"Want a drink, Doc?" I hailed a passing waiter, taking two glasses from his tray and handing one to Doctor A. "I won't judge."

He took the glass, gulping a little hastily. "Remind me why your mother invited me again?" His eyes moved back and forth, taking in the dresses, the jewellery. His own suit wasn't half bad—the guy was the main proprietor of Arkham, for gosh sake—but his discomfort spoke of a psychologist more at home in the asylum analysing patients than schmoozing at a party.

I took a breath. "To thank you for not firing me—"

"Of course not—" His brows drew together.

"—and also for me not dying a death at the hands of a psychotic clown." I ticked the reasons off on my fingers as I parroted my mother. My mouth tingled at the last part, like the words didn't want to come out.

 _Because you're speaking in a derogatory way about a patient. It violates code._ Psychologist Harleen chastised.

 _Plus, he could've killed you if he wanted._ Secret Harleen supplied, snapping her bubblegum. _But he didn't. I wonder why?_ Psychologist Harleen looked thoughtful. Never a good sign.

Doctor A had the grace to look shame-faced at the reminder of events. "Well, I didn't stop him, did I?"

"No harm, no foul." I shrugged, taking a sip of my champagne. "Besides, it's psychologically unhealthy to hold grudges." I winked at him.

He smiled, almost overbalancing on his crutch as he went to place his glass on a passing tray. I reached out to steady him.

"Too much already?" I teased.

"Just inexperienced on these things." He waved a crutch in the air, shaking his head. "I'll admit, I'm surprised the Joker didn't cause _you_ more permanent damage." A small frown creased his forehead.

 _Uh oh. Abort, abort._

I laughed uneasily. "Yeah, you and me both."

"After he took you to the roof, I was concerned for your life and yet... here you are."

"Very strange." I knocked back the contents of my glass, feeling the bubbles swell in my nose.

Doctor A continued, oblivious. "In previous similar instances, those involved have rarely gotten off so...lightly." He was leaning in closer now, his voice lowered.

I sucked my teeth. Nightmares and possible concussion. Yeah, I suppose you could call that _light_. But individuals view their own experiences to be more psychologically significant than the experiences of others—my pain is as important as your pain, and all that—so on a visceral level what he said peeved me off a little. I swallowed it, because I'm a psychologist.

"Did he _say_ much to you?" Doctor A pressed, oblivious to my internal doctrination.

"Not really." Which was true. Kind of. I rubbed at my bare arms. Was it cold in here?

He pursed his lips, unsatisfied. "Nothing at all?"

"Nope." I popped the 'p'. "Hey, maybe we'll get lucky and Batman will throw him back in Arkham. Then you can ask him."

I expected him to frown, or laugh. What I didn't expect was the look in his eyes.

"Would you be amenable to that?"

I choked on my drink. "To what?" I coughed. He patted me awkwardly on the back.

"To sitting in. On a therapy session. Should he return, of course."

My mouth fell open. "Isn't that—do you think that would be a good idea?"

"It seems he responds differently to you." If I didn't know better, I'd say he looked a little too fervent. "To observe that in a clinical environment would be...beneficial."

And what about my psychological health? Putting me in an environment with the man who'd pushed me out of a helicopter did not scream _responsible psychiatry_.

 _Now, now, let's not be hasty_. Psychologist Harleen was near-glowing with the same fervency as the Doc. _He probably thinks you're strong enough to handle it._

She conveniently ignored Secret Harleen, currently practicing backflips in her underwear.

"I don't know, Doc. I haven't even had a practical session yet.." Plus I'd made a promise to Pam. And I didn't like the funny feeling in my chest at the thought of seeing _him_ again. Like motion sickness. Maybe PTSD.

The light in Doctor Arkham's eyes faded, replaced by contrition. "Oh, of course." He backtracked, fiddling with the tie at his neck. "Possibly something to revisit at a later date?" He sounded hopeful. "A moot point for the moment, though," he added hastily at my expression, not forcing me to answer yet. "The Joker is far from Arkham, for the near future, I'm sure."

He was right. The Joker _was_ far from the asylum. Doing God knows what, God knows where. But still, far away from me. Good.

 _Not good._ Psychologist Harleen.

I groaned inside. _You're supposed to be the sensible one!_

 _He could be killing people._ She frowned, adjusting her glasses. _He's disturbed._

 _Yeah, like people who put their seats back on planes._ Secret Harleen nodded.

 _Helpful_.

I was saved from my selves, if you could call it that, by the appearance of Virginia Graves, AKA;

"Momma." The relief in my voice was palpable.

"Hi, Pumpkin." Her voice lilted like my own. You could take Momma out of New York, but you couldn't take New York out of Momma. "Doing okay?" She kissed my cheek, her vanilla smell enveloping me. Ever felt safe and suffocated, all at once?

"Great." I leaned in to the affection anyway. "This is Doctor Jeremiah Arkham, my boss." Momma extended her hand, which Doctor A shook. "We were just talking about my going back to work."

Momma frowned, sighing. "Already, Harleen?" She turned to Doctor A, shaking her head. "So stubborn. When she was a little girl only her father could get her to behave." She rolled her eyes, the same blue as my own.

I tensed at the mention of Daddy. "I'm fine, Momma. Not a scratch on me." Not like I was gonna mention the dreams.

"After talking with Harleen, in all honesty she seems fine to return whenever she feels able," Doctor A backed me up, probably feeling guilty about our little conversation. Nevertheless, I felt myself warming to him. "I'm confident she'll excel in practical patient work."

Momma beamed. "That's my Pumpkin. Top of her class, right through school. Not that her father would've allowed anything less." Her laugh tinkled with the piano music, souring my mood.

"Anyone want a drink?" I asked.

Momma and Doctor A shook their heads.

Good. More for me. "I'll be back in a sec."

Momma touched my arm as I made to leave, making me pause. "Mind you say hello to Harvey, if you see him." She looked me in the eyes, both a heads up and a warning.

I gritted my teeth, closing my eyes to count to three. "Harvey's here?" It wasn't really a question. Of course Harvey was here. Why _wouldn't_ Harvey be here?

"Of course he's here." She mirrored my thoughts, squeezing my arm. "Everyone's here."

"Did you invite him, or did Edward?"

She raised a blonde eyebrow. "Does it matter?"

 _Kind of, yeah._ "I guess not." I conceded.

"Go." She patted my butt, discussion over. "Mingle. I'll keep the charming Doctor here company." She winked at him and I was reminded of myself in a disturbing way. Shuddering, I headed for the bar.

My shoulder bumped against someone. "Sorry," I stopped to apologise. My tall, dark haired victim turned.

Crap, I just shoulder-barged Bruce Wayne.

"No problem." He paused, head tilting as he scanned my face. "Apology accepted, Ms...?" His voice was deep, untouched by the free-flowing alcohol.

"Quinzel. Harleen Quinzel." We shook hands. His was calloused. Huh. Not what I expected from a billionaire.

Recognition flashed in his dark eyes. "You're the new doctor at Arkham." He stated.

I blinked. "Uh—"

"I'm an investor," he filled in. "Jeremiah... likes to keep me updated." I didn't miss the humour in his voice.

I giggled. "Doctor A is all about due diligence, I imagine."

"Drink?" Bruce asked, taking two from a tray before I could answer and handing one to me. I took a grateful mouthful. "Weren't you the Doctor that got taken up to the roof by the Joker?" he queried.

I swallowed hard, the large mouthful of wine burning my trachea. "People are talking about that?" I tried not to cough.

"Not exactly." He tapped the side of his nose. "I have an inside source, remember?"

"Oh, right." Duh. "Yeah, that was me." The myth, the legend. I took a long drink. If people could stop making _his_ face flash in my mind, that would be peachy.

"Some might say you're lucky to be alive." Wayne's dark eyes were unreadable. Man, that was one serious jawline. Although, it had nothing on the J—

"Some have," I cut myself off. _Pull yourself together, Harls. Maybe less of the alcohol._

"Have they." It wasn't a question. He was studying me like I was an interesting specimen in a museum.

My tolerance for people looking at me in weird ways had just about reached its limit.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Mr Wayne." I gave him a big smile, which he returned only briefly. "But I gotta get going. Still a little woozy, you know." I wound my finger against my head in the universal sign for crazy. He didn't laugh.

"Please," he called after me, "Call me Bruce."

I twisted on my heel, giving him a little finger wave. "Bye bye, Bruce."

He was still watching me as I left. The alcohol was fizzing in my veins now. I wanted out of this stuffy party and in to somewhere more _fun_. Pammy would know a place. On my way to the door, I sighted a familiar blonde haired, blue eyed man who unfortunately spotted me also. Champagne curdled in my stomach as he made his way over.

 _Oh dear,_ Psychologist Harleen muttered.

Secret Harleen revved her chainsaw.

My face must have been as sour as my insides. "Hey, Harleen. Not pleased to see me?" Harvey grinned his cover-boy grin, teeth white enough to give sight to blind orphans.

"Not you." I pointed a finger in his face, pissed that my voice sounded woozy. "Not tonight."

He held his hands up in supplication. "Alright, alright." He sniffed the air, smelling for alcohol on me. Weirdo. "At least let me help you home." He went to touch my arm. I stepped out of his reach.

"No, thank you." My voice was cold.

"Harleen, you're drunk. How are you planning on getting back?"

I narrowed my eyes. "On my _own,_ by my _self._ I'm used to it." I slapped my tag down in front of the coat check girl, who had been watching us with white-faced fascination.

Harvey sighed. "How many times do I need to apologise?"

"I don't want an apology, Harvey. I'd really just like you to fuck off."

The coat-check girl gasped, amazed at hearing someone speak to Harvey Dent that way.

"I'm still sorry." His eyes were bright, apologetic. Too bad I could see right through him.

"You still left me on a _stolen boat_ by myself," I hissed.

Harvey's eyes flitted to the coat-check girl, who blushed and busied herself with finding my jacket.

"Years ago, Harls, come on. Don't you think it's about time you forgive me?"

I considered just leaving my jacket, but he was standing between me and the exit. My hands clenched into fists. I closed my eyes, breathing through my nose. One Mississippi, two Mississippi...

I opened my eyes. "You're a two-faced son of a bitch, Harvey Dent." I yanked my jacket from the coat-check girl's outstretched hands, sending her scurrying to the other end of the desk. "Now, get out of my way." I pushed past him, ignoring his protests and heading for the door when a man entered.

I don't know why I didn't see it coming. My whole night had been going fabulously so far. This was just the icing on the cake.

The man's gaze zeroed in on me. The last time I'd experienced that look and frosty attitude I was being restrained in the back of a helicopter. He muttered into an earpiece. Cold trickled down my spine.

 _Aw sweet holy fuck._

I spun on my heel, about to take off when I heard multiple guns cock behind me.

"Oh, _Harley._ " An all-too-familiar voice crooned, getting closer with every word. "First you crash my party plans, then you try and take off before dessert?" He tutted. "I don't think so, babydoll." The feel of his breath on my cheek awoke the motion sickness sensation in my chest. I took an unsteady breath, tingling spreading across my limbs. Fight or flight. "Someone needs to teach you some _manners_." He growled low. My heart gave an unsteady beat. "But, first things first. It's party time!" A rough hand shoved me to the ground as he laughed loud, glasses shattering and screaming beginning as the gunfire started.

* * *

 **AN: Busy chapter, lots of stuff going down! Stop me if it's moving too fast, hahaha. Your reviews give me life and will to keep going, people, even if I should be sleeping right now. Hope everyone had a great weekend!**


	6. Cake

_Stop me when you've had enough._

* * *

Chapter 6.

Cake.

* * *

Bullets ricocheted overhead. So much _screaming._ I strained my ears, trying to pick Momma's voice out in the confusion.

 _Get_ up _, you big baby._ Secret Harleen stamped her foot. _It's only a couple-a bullets. Come on!_

 _You're crazy_. Psychologist Harleen and I responded in tandem. Good. At least I was in my right mind. Kinda.

Multiple bodies passed me by as the gunmen made their way into the room, their heavy boots missing my fingers by a hair. If the Joker had told them not to hurt me, it wouldn't be for any good reason. More, saving your favourite part of the meal for last. _One_ Harley _, nice and hot!_ My body started to shake. Adrenaline, exhilaration, did it matter?

Something brushed my arm. I opened one eye to see Harvey had commando crawled his way over, my jacket covering his head. Of course he was hiding his face. The famous _Harvey Dent_. I wanted to yank it off of him.

"What are you doing?" I ducked as something flew overhead and smashed against the wall behind me.

"What do you mean, what am I doing?" He whispered, propping the coat up so his face was just visible. "Come on." He jerked his head in the direction of the door. Could he not see the big clowns guarding the exit, or had he lost a few brain cells since we last talked?

"You see the big dudes with the machine guns, right?"

He blinked at me. "We need to get out of here." He stressed the syllables, like I was retarded.

"Go ahead." I said, flinching as a shrill scream pierced the air. "I'm sure they'll be happy to let you go on your merry way." I did a little walk on the floor with my fingers, almost laughing at his expression.

"Well, we can't stay here."

I saluted him. "Thank you, Captain Obvious."

Blonde hair fell into his eyes. He frowned, pushing it back. "Do you think you could suspend your dislike of me for one second while we try not to die?"

Someone tripped over us, crashing into the coat booth. Wood splintered and we scrambled back. Harvey took the opportunity to drag me to my feet. His grip stung, and not least because I didn't like him touching me. Adrenaline was supposed to override alcohol and yet everything was fuzzy around the edges. He tugged me deeper into the room, skirting the perimeter, staying low as we headed for the doors leading to the rest of the house. My coat still hung over his head.

 _Douche._ Secret Harleen said.

 _Narcissist._ Psychologist Harleen qualified.

Chaos reigned. Clownfaces paraded in stolen jewels, raining bullets and terrorising fleeing guests. Hard to believe just minutes ago everyone had been swaying on champagne bubbles.

"Move it, lady!" A clownfaced minion shoved one of the guests so she sprawled on the floor like sobbing starfish. White, panicked faces clutched at jewel-adorned necks and wrung ring-encrusted fingers. Hair had fallen from careful updos, sleeves were torn, and there was blood. Blood, running in slow rivulets down chair legs, decorating the cream walls in macabre splashes. I slipped in a puddle of red, falling on my hands, liquid splashing up and staining my dress. Harvey helped me up, covering his own hands in blood in the process.

Manic laughter rang through the mayhem. The Joker strolled the length of the bar, taking potshots at abandoned glasses. He was pale as I remembered, his face moulded and carved by his chemical submersion. _If it did that to his skin, who knows what happened to his mind?_ His green hair was intense in the muted party lights, like the toxins in his brain had seeped out into his hair follicles. He took aim, pale eyes narrowed, cheeks sucked inward as he concentrated. My breath caught as a champagne flute exploded in a glimmer of glass at his bullet.

Secret Harleen sucked in a breath.

 _He's projecting his mental destruction onto his surroundings._ _It's disturbed._ Psychologist Harleen's eyes were wide, but her clipboard scribbles were inspired. She liked alcohol. It removed her professional misgivings.

 _In moderation._ She clarified.

For once, Secret Harleen ignored her, too busy watching in open-mouthed fascination.

Something buzzed against my hip. Phone. I fumbled with it, seeing a familiar name light the screen. Momma had text, frantic. She and Edward had gotten out the back in the confusion through the server's entrance in the kitchen. Doctor A was with them. I sighed in relief.

"We need to find the kitchen." I informed Harvey, who had paused at a gap in the tables and was evaluating making a run for it.

He snuck a quick incredulous glance over his shoulder. "You're hungry? Now?"

"No, stupid." I glared at the back of his head. "There's a back door."

"Excellent." He whispered. "Where's the kitchen?"

Oh.

 _A good soldier knows her escape routes._ Secret Harleen stood to attention, wearing a combat uniform left over from Halloween in my first year of college.

 _It_ is _a useful tactic to evaluate new situations and plan possible scenario responses._ Psychologist Harleen watched Secret Harleen march, bemused. _A good plan overrides detrimental fight-or-flight response... aka, scream and freeze._

 _Hey, whaddaya call Frosty the Snowman crossed with the_ _Joker?_ Secret Harleen quipped. _Scream and Freeze. Hahahaha._

I giggled, shutting up when Harvey looked at me like I had problems.

"Um, kitchen, no." I answered. "I could probably sniff out the liquor cabinet, though."

"Excellent." He repeated, sarcastic. "When it's scotch and cigar time, I'll let you know. In the meantime—" He darted across the gap, yanking me behind him, almost taking my arm off in the process.

"Ow!" I pulled back, trying to wrest myself from his grip. "I can walk, ya know!"

A bullet whizzed past my cheek, so close I felt heat on my skin. I whipped round. The Joker stood atop the bar across the room, his smoking gun aimed dead centre at my chest. His eyes were wild. My heart thudded at the memory of exploding glasses.

"Leaving so soon?" He jumped down from the bar, landing in a crouch. He was bare chested under his purple greatcoat, the smile emblazoned on his abdomen extending as he straightened to his full height, cracking his neck in the process. Harvey didn't give me a second to think. He ran for the doors, his hold on me forcing me to follow.

The Joker's laugh rang out behind us. "Frost, take care of the guests, would ya?" I heard him drawl. "I got a couple of crashers to attend to."

"He's following us." I informed Harvey. A glance over my shoulder confirmed. The Joker strode through the crowd, untouched by the bedlam, focused on his targets.

Harvey answered by increasing his pace. We burst through the doors and into the hallway, tracking blood along the cream carpet as we ran for the stairs. The ballroom had its own entrance, through which the Joker and co. had made their appearance. The stairs led up to the main house and our exit. My sweating hands slipped on the railing as we raced up the steps. I followed Harvey blindly down endless cream hallways marked by bloody handprints and knocked-over end tables, trying doors, finding bedrooms and bathrooms and even a pool room in which a body was floating. I jerked out of that room, slamming the door.

"What?" Harvey asked.

I shook my head. Evidently the clownfaces had spread into the rest of the house. _Not good._ I could hear the Joker singing, firing random shots, a melody of puncturing and shattering echoing behind us.

 _Not a bad voice_. Secret Harleen mused.

A door opened ahead, a clownface popping his head out. He looked up and down the hall before his beady eyes landed on us, his plastic expression unmoving. A thin strand of pearls hung around his neck.

I zoned in on the bloody knife he was holding. "Oh, shit."

"This way." Harvey jerked open the pool room door as clownface started toward us, shoving me inside ahead of himself. Goosebumps raised on my blood-spattered skin at the chill. Someone had busted the heating unit, the glass spiderwebbed from the impact of a bullet.

I kicked off my heels, sprinting to the changing room access door on the other side of the pool and tugging on the handle. Locked.

"Dammit!" I slapped the door in frustration. Harvey shoved me aside, levelling a kick at the handle. The door shook uselessly.

Clownface entered, knife still in his grip. He was bigger than I thought, corded muscle extending from the neck of his wifebeater vest. "Where do you think you're going?" He growled, advancing. I backed up, back hitting the wall, frantically tugging at the handle behind me. Harvey was casting around for a weapon. Spotting my discarded stiletto in the pool, he dove, blood washing from his skin and swirling in the water as he power-stroked toward it.

Clownface was only steps away when he paused, head tilted to one side. "You." He muttered, lowering his knife.

Huh? "Me...?"

Harvey appeared behind him, driving a six-inch stiletto heel into his neck before he could answer. Blood spurted and clownface yelled, going down on one knee. Harvey jumped on his back, locking an arm around his neck when clownface bucked to throw him off. "Go, Harleen!" Pearls scattered, bouncing on the tiles.

A familiar figure darkened the doorway.

My stomach did a one-eighty. The Joker leaned against the door frame, arms folded. "Having fun?"

Clownface and Harvey froze, Harvey still hanging from his neck, their heads turning in unison toward the door. It was almost comical. Clownface stood, Harvey sliding down his back. The Joker levelled his gun at Harvey, who raised his arms. Clownface seemed at a loss.

"Harvey Dent." The Joker drew out his name, picking up my non-weaponised stiletto and spinning it on his finger as he strolled over. "About time, don't ya think?" There was a bounce in his step that was missing in Arkham. The Joker in chains had been a taste, a sample. _This_ was the main course. How many therapists had the chance to see him unleashed?

"What do you want?" Harvey's jaw was set, all business. He was used to dealing with criminals.

 _But he isn't your ordinary criminal_ , I wanted to tell him.

The Joker laughed, throwing the stiletto in the air and catching it. "I haven't thought that far ahead, Harvs. See, I find inspiration comes in the _moment_ —there I was, perusing Doctor Quinzel's personal files and whose name should I see but _yours._ Interesting stuff, Harley." He winked. "Dear old District Attorney Dent for a boyfriend. Now _there's_ an act that's hard to follow."

"Don't talk to her." Harvey warned.

"He's not my boyfriend." I blurted.

The Joker raised an eyebrow at me, cocking the gun still pointed in Harvey's direction. "Stay out of this, Dent."

I blushed. "I meant—"

He threw the stiletto at me. "Shut up."

The heel skated past, reminiscent of the earlier bullet. I shut up.

Satisfied I'd obeyed, he continued. "As I was saying," he waved the gun in rhythm with his speech, almost drunk-seeming in his aimless strolling. "Maybe ol' Harvey Dent," he jerked his head in Harvey's direction, "isn't as picture perfect as he likes to make out, hmmm?" He chucked me on the chin. "Did he or did he not leave you on a stolen boat to, shall we say, _take the rap_?" He put on a newscaster voice, holding an imaginary microphone like he was a reporter and I was dishing the dirt.

Anger surged at the memory. Harvey shut his eyes briefly, irritated at the reminder. God forbid anyone know he wasn't the Apollo they all made him out to be.

Still. It wasn't my favourite memory to relive. "No comment." I muttered.

The Joker's face darkened. "Come on, Harls. Play nice now." He wagged a finger.

"Let's set the stage..." He hooked an arm over my shoulders, sweeping the other in an arc as if he were looking into the distance. "Young Harley, entering her first year at Gotham University, pink-cheeked and wide-eyed, eager to learn all about the crazies that go bump in the night," his voice took on a musical quality, "and golden-boy Harvey, a rising star shooting his way to district attorney, the whole world. At. His. _F_ _eet_." His words rang in the tiled room. "The audience is dying to know—how did these two crazy kids end up _here_?" He tutted, shaking his head and pressing a hand to his heart in mock solemnity.

Elbowing me, he grinned. "You're gonna have to fill some blanks in for me, Harls. Government files aren't real informative when it comes to the juicy details." He brushed a loose curl back from my face, voice lowered. "He left you, didn't he? All alone, no one to take to the dance."

Memories flickered. Drinking Daddy's wine on the deck of a 'borrowed' yacht that belonged one of Harvey's family friends—although we hadn't exactly gotten permission first. The files were redacted, Harvey's name scrubbed clean. DA Dent couldn't extend me the same courtesy. Too suspicious. They had to say _someone_ did it. Not like a ghost made off with a yacht for a midnight rendevous. After all, I was only gonna be a psychologist—he was on his way to _DA_ , _Harleen, it could kill my career, not like they'd stop you treating psychos because of one lousy misdemeanour_.

Feelings bubbled up my trachea. I swallowed them down. The Joker lifted my chin with one finger, his gaze holding mine. "You tell old J all about it." His teeth glinted from between parted lips. "That's no way to treat a lady. Tell me, Doc—ever dream about revenge?"

I frowned, distracted by his gunmetal smile. "Your teeth. What happened to your teeth?"

"Harley," he growled, frustrated I was failing to play along. He gripped my chin, his hold punishing. "Focus."

The proximity was distracting. What was it about the Joker that seemed to turn my brain off? He was like an EMP for intellect. And what the eff happened to his teeth? "What was the question?"

He lowered his face. For one wild moment, I thought he might kiss me. "Revenge." He enunciated. "The desire to exact terrible and brutal pain on those who have _wronged_ you."

"Everyone thinks about it." I answered, my eyes moving over his face, still startled at his closeness. "About hurting people. People who bug you. It's the pleistocene brain—"

His hand covered my mouth. "Stop trying to _explain_ everything." He shuddered, lips tugging down in a frown. "You therapists. So concerned with finding answers to questions that don't exist. Everyone likes to cause pain, Doctor Quinzel, that's all there is to it. And _that's_ why we gotta have a little _fun_ where we can!" Just like that, he shoved me back, sending me sprawling into Harvey who slipped and cracked his head on the tiles. The Joker hooted. I dropped to my knees to shake him, stomach squeezing when his eyes wouldn't open.

As if on cue, a small blonde tumbled into the room, pursued by a clownface. "Harleen!"

My mouth fell open. _You've got to be fucking kidding me._ "Momma!" She must have come looking for me when I didn't turn up outside. It was both touching and horrifying.

The Joker lit up like all his Christmases had come at once. "Get her." Both clownfaces complied, the one nearest locking me in a chokehold that cut off all but the thinnest streams of air. I gasped for breath. The other launched a hail of bullets, splintering tiles. Everyone ducked.

The Joker snarled. "Not like _that_ , idiot!" He strode over to clownface the second, yanking the gun from his hands. "That's strike two _,_ Larry." I almost laughed. _Oh dear, Larry._ "Know what they'll say about you? His whole life, he never made it to third base." The Joker was a quick shot—Larry's face was blown to oblivion before he could utter a plea, spattering the room with bits of hippocampus and cerebellum. Momma's face looked like a Jackson Pollock painting.

"Welcome, Mommy _Harley._ " The Joker pulled a serrated steel knife from Larry's belt. Hauling Momma to her feet, he ran the sharp tip along her cheekbone. I felt a surge of... something. " _You_ should've stayed outside. But then, your daughter doesn't know what's good for her, either." He shook his head, like they were at a parent-teacher conference and I'd forgotten to hand in my homework.

 _Please, Professor J, don't kill me. The dog ate it._

The knife made a small cut on her cheek. I tensed. "Don't."

He paused, running his tongue across his teeth. "Don't _what_?"

"Touch her." The chlorine smell made my eyes water. "Please."

"I like that." He purred, rolling his neck. "Say it again." His eyes were on Momma, the knife travelling slow circles on her cheeks. Again, the strange sensation surged in my stomach.

 _Begging. I don't think we like begging_. Secret Harley pouted.

 _He's not playing, asshole_. Psychologist Harleen never cursed. _On your knees._

I opened my mouth to sink my dignity when a flash of silver whipped through the air, knocking the knife from the Joker's grip and embedding in the wall behind. The shape was impossible not to recognise.

The Joker growled. "Forever spoiling the fun." He spun on his heel, knocking Momma to the floor. I ran to her side as he stalked across the tiles to meet his nemesis, firing rounds from his gun like the munitions were bees and Batman was honey. The sound was deafening in the enclosed space.

"Not what I'd call fun." Batman ducked and weaved as hot bullets sliced and diced the oxygen in the room. The guy was fast. The single bullet embedding in his chest armour was testament to the Joker's marksman skills. The Joker was laughing, his face devoid of the concentration it had shown when he was obliterating glassware. This wasn't _serious_. Realisation dawned.

 _Why kill the Batman, when the Batman makes such a great adversary?_ Psychologist Harleen said. _You don't bump off your favourite hobby._

Launching himself toward the gun, they met in a clash of psychosis and darkness, Batman landing punches as the Joker slashed. The Joker moved like an avenging demon, swift and lithe, not weighed down by body armour or averse to pain. My sweating palms slipped on the tiles as I dragged Momma with me, forcing her to move nearer to the edge of the room. The Joker laughed as Batman caught him on the chin, sending him spinning backward.

"Boring." The Joker jumped to his feet. "You've already done my teeth. Let's try something else." Dipping a hand into his pocket, out came a small, round object. The Joker put it to his lips before hurling it at Batman.

I had a split second to cover myself before the room exploded.

 _Two explosions in one week._ Secret Harleen's voice was fuzzy through the ringing in my ears. _We going for a record?_

"Momma." I croaked, hauling myself up. Everything ached. Momma was flat out, her eyes wide, breathing in small pants.

 _She's in shock._ Psychologist Harleen.

 _Should we slap her?_ Secret Harleen.

"It's okay, Momma." I murmured, brushing hair back from her face. She didn't move. I glanced around. Clownface the first had taken a bad hit, his mask charred, body not much better. He groaned, clutching an arm to his chest as he rolled around like a giant toy. Harvey was still out, but he looked relatively unharmed, save for a few gashes on his exposed skin from shattered tiles. It was then I realised I was wet, my hair plastered to my forehead. The pool water must have erupted at the pressure. I pressed my lips together, holding back nausea at the sight of a large shard of metal embedded in my lower calf, watery red weeping from the edges.

The Joker. My head snapped up.

Aside from Batman, he'd been closest to the blast. Only, unlike Batman, he wasn't wearing several pounds of body armour. Bruises marked his pale skin, his grin wide as Batman restrained him. _Talk about masochism_.

"Careful with the merchandise." He huffed as Batman pulled tight on his arms. Batman levelled a square punch at his stomach in response. He wheezed. "Be seeing you real soon, Doc." He called to me, laughing hoarsely, the sound echoing in the clinical desolation of the pool room as Batman pulled him out the door.

* * *

 **AN: Have to take a breath after all that! Not really sure about this Chapter; I'll probably end up doing sneaky edits, but I've held it back long enough and needed to move the story on. If anyone's wondering, the Chapter is named for Melanie Martinez's song 'Cake'. Hope everyone had a great weekend, and as always, thank you so much for taking the time to review. It means the world. Secret Harleen thinks you guys are awesome.**


	7. Carousel

_It takes madness to find out madness._

* * *

Chapter Seven.

Carousel.

* * *

Sweaty.

 _"...that is one dirty mouth..."_

Too hot.

 _"...You know, Harley-doll, I'm almost sorry to do this..."_

Wait, don't...

 _"Can you live for me?"_

I jerked awake, phantom question bouncing around my skull like a jackhammer. Gripping the sides of my head, I squeezed.

"Get outta my head, clown," I growled, as if my heart weren't pounding a tattoo against the inside of my chest. Nothing like a nocturnal visit from Gotham's worst to set your heart racing.

You _get out,_ Secret Harleen yelled, yanking the covers up over her head.

I ignored her, too busy with the dream trying to repeat itself behind my eyelids. I hit pause. My heart couldn't take a second rendition of breath on my cheek and cool fingers gripping my shoulders before I tumbled into oblivion. I'd go into cardiac arrest.

Flopping my arms down on the covers, I looked to my left. Blinky alarm clock says... 6AM. Huh. Better than last night. And the night before that. And pretty much every night since I swan dived out of a helicopter.

Peeling the covers off like dream-soaked banana skin, I tested my leg, hissing breath through my teeth at the sting. _Yowza._ Three weeks. You'd think it would've let up by now. Nope. First thing in the morning, it sung like a canary. Limping to the bathroom, I spat in the sink. Blood. Awesome.

With my finger I felt the ridges of scar tissue on the inside of my cheeks. I'd been sleep-chewing. Again. Cannibalism. Self-cannibalism. Is that even a thing?

 _We're making it a thing._ Secret Harleen.

Sticking a finger in either side of my mouth, I pulled a goofy face at myself in the mirror.

"You are a mess."

A trickle of bloody drool had dried on one corner of my lips. With the dark, sleepless rings around my eyes and my paling skin, I looked like a maniac.

 _Cool._ Secret Harleen.

I pointed at my ever-paler self. "Stop dreaming, dummy. That's an order."

Secret Harleen blew a raspberry.

Twisting my hair into two knots, I made my way into the living room and shoved back my sofa. A little light acrobatics in the morning to squeegee my brain.

I was swinging in the rafters on my aerial silks watching a spider poop a web and trying unsuccessfully not to think about dreams when the phone rang, startling me into unravelling like a twisted marionette.

It kept ringing with no concern for my being stuck in my silks.

"Just a second." I shouted to an inanimate object.

Freeing my leg, I darted to the receiver. "Hello?" I answered cautiously.

"Harleen, is that you? You sound breathless." It was Doctor A. At 6:40 in the morning. Not at all concerning.

I twisted the cord round my finger, resting my butt on the phone table. "Um, I was, nothing. Hey, what's up?"

He cleared his throat. "Did I wake you? I should have checked the time—"

"I was up." _Being tortured out of sleep by the patient neither of us have mentioned since you teased me with the possibility of a session, Doc._

"Good. Good." He paused. I waited for him to cut to the chase. "Listen, the reason I'm calling is—well, I wondered if you'd be able to come in?"

"Now?" My voice shot up an octave. "You mean to Arkham?" _Ouch._ I winced, dropping the phone cord that had been cutting the blood off to my finger.

Secret Harleen sat up, interested.

"Yes. There's something I want to discuss with you." He sounded guarded. My spidey-senses tingled.

Psychologist Harleen stuck her head out of the bathroom, tootbrush hanging out of her mouth.

Something bubbled in my chest. An early start wasn't the weird part—working in an Asylum, graveyard shifts were a given. It was the last-minute notice that had my brain ticking. That, and the way he sounded was setting off my conspiracy bells.

"Sure, Doc." I answered slowly from around the finger I was sucking. "I can do that."

"Good, that's good. I'll see you shortly, then?"

"I'll be there in twenty."

He hung up.

Well.

 _Well._ Psychologist Harleen.

 _Well_. Secret Harleen. _What are ya waiting for, dummy? Go shower!_

~oOoOo~

After what may have been the fastest shower of my entire life, I threw on a shirt and skirt, tied my wet hair in a knot and was in my car. A few traffic violations later and voila, Arkham. The sky was still shades of pink and orange, turning the dark shadow of the asylum into silhouette art on a twisted postcard. _Wish you were here!_

The gates still freaked me out, screeching as they opened to let me through. All that twisty, dark metal. If I was being honest, they reminded me of Batman. Big, dark, imposing. Keeping the loonies in the bin.

"Morning, Louie," I called to the security guard who'd buzzed me through from inside his box.

"You're early." He sniffed, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. There was a coffee stain on his shirt. He gave me a suspicious look. "You supposed to be here?"

"Doctor's orders." I winked, holding up my badge.

He snorted, but didn't laugh. Taking my badge in one hand, he stared at it for way longer than necessary before handing it back without a word. I took it between two fingers, making a mental note to dip it in some kind of chemical cleaner before I put it back on.

When I reached Doctor A's office, the door was closed. I lifted a hand to knock when I heard voices coming from inside.

Without a second thought, I leaned in.

 _We need to talk about your instincts._ Psychologist Harleen folded her arms, disapproving.

 _Shut up, I'm trying to listen._

"…but is it ethical?" Doctor A asked someone.

"Ethical is a funny word, Jerry, one that's open to interpretation depending who you talk to." I knew that voice.

"Doctor Crane," I muttered.

"What's good for one person, might not be so good for another," Crane continued. I heard footsteps. Someone was pacing.

"So, no." Doctor A was blunt.

"I didn't say that. I think there's definitely some professional merit in what you're suggesting." Definitely Crane. I'd never heard someone else talk with the same relaxed authority. I'd only talked to him a few times, but every time left me feeling a little off-kilter. If there was a cosmic joke, he was in on it.

The footsteps stopped. "He's been refusing." Doctor A said.

"To speak to Joan? Well, that's not exactly surprising. Their personalities are—incompatible would probably be the kindest word."

"I feel like, at this stage, it's either try this or stop treatment altogether."

 _Are they talking about who we think they're talking about?_ Secret Harleen's eyes were wide.

 _Shush!_

"That's one option."

"But then what?"

"Leave him to rot, I guess." Crane's voice was a shrug.

"So." Doctor A hesitated. "We bring her in, then."

My heart dropped like a mallet on a high striker. _Ding ding ding._

"You've been playing with the idea long enough. Only one way to see how it plays out."

The sound of chair legs squeaking on the floor. "There's something different about the way he interacts with her." He sounded like he did the night of the party. Fervent. "I've never seen it before."

"Clearly, she has a high threshold for fear." Crane mused. "Maybe he wants to test her limits."

My heart skipped a beat.

"Yes." Doctor A answered, quieter. "That's what I'm afraid of."

"What are you doing?"

I backed up so fast the door could've been lava. Doctor Joan Leland stood a few feet away, clipboard to her chest, one eyebrow raised. I'd spoken to her maybe once since I started my tenure, and this is how she found me. Hand in the cookie jar.

 _Crappy pink elephants crap._ "I was—"

The door opened. Joan and I turned simultaneously. Doctor Crane looked back and forth between us. "Good morning, Doctors." There was a small smile on his face. Like he knew he was missing something, and he thought it was funny. He looked like what someone might imagine a college professor would look like, if one were in the business of crushing on college professors.

"Good morning, Doctor Crane." I gave him a bright smile. Blood rushed to my cheeks.

"Morning, Jonathan." Joan's tone was conversational. "Early meeting with Jeremiah?" She caught my eye. I looked away.

"In fact, we were just waiting on Doctor Quinzel, here." He gestured to me. "Why don't you come in, Harleen?"

"Sure." I scooted into the office, Joan following behind.

"Doctor Crane—" she began.

"Is that Doctor Leland?" Doctor A cut her off, looking up from his notes. From the look of his stubble, I'd say he hadn't been home. "Good timing on your part, Joan. Sit down, both of you." He closed his file, expectant.

For a second, Joan looked thrown, her mouth still open to rat me out. Doctor Crane seated himself to the right of Doctor A. After a beat she took a chair, waving a hand at me to do the same when I hesitated. "Sit down, Harleen."

My nerves spiked. I took the seat beside her, accidentally-on-purpose squeaking it against the floor. Her lips thinned.

"So, here I am." I glanced between Doctor A and Doctor Crane. Looking at them both, it started to come back to me. Getting busted by Joan had made me momentarily forget what I'd overheard. Butterflies filled my stomach.

"Harleen." Doctor A steepled his fingers. "You may remember a conversation we had the night of your mother's party. About treatment, once you returned."

Doctor Crane watched me, pale eyes hard to read. Joan was a statue.

 _Stone Joan. Ha ha._

"I remember." I shifted in my seat, resisting the urge to dry my palms on my skirt.

"You've been back for a week or so. How would you say your sessions have been going so far?" His face showed genuine interest. I would've relaxed, if not for the strange gleam in his eye.

"Um." I glanced at Joan. If anyone could review my performance, it was her. She'd been a silent sit-in for most of my sessions. If clipboards could talk… "Good, I think. I like to think I've made some progress with some of the less volatile patients. I mean," I glanced at Joan again. She didn't turn. "A little progress. It hasn't really been that long."

A small laugh from Joan. "No, it hasn't," she added, flicking lint from her skirt.

I narrowed my eyes. She ignored me, pretending to examine her nails. Turning back to Doctor A, I continued, "I'd say I've made progress, though. Definitely, considering how little time and practical training I've had so far."

Joan stiffened. _Ha. Take that._ It was true, too—she was always too busy with her own patients.

He nodded, running a finger across his chin as he spoke. "Under usual circumstances, I'd never consider something so serious at such an early stage. But things don't always happen the way we might plan for them to." He held a hand out to Joan. "Joan, would you mind passing me patient file #0801?"

Doctor Crane glanced at him, then at Joan.

Joan's mouth popped open. She clutched the files she held closer to her chest. "Why?" she asked bluntly.

Doctor A shifted, uncomfortable. "In previous meetings, you've expressed concerns at the patient's failure to co-operate." He tried to inject authority into his tone. "Doctor Crane and I agree a new approach is warranted…" At Joan's expression, he trailed off.

"So, what?" She gestured at me, lip curled. "Are we so out of options we'd stick someone with less than a month's experience in with the _Joker_?" The look she gave me was acerbic.

 _We were right._ Psychologist Harleen.

 _Oh_ shit, _we were right!_ Secret Harleen whooped.

I blinked. _Don't mind me, I'm just going into cardiac arrest._ My hands were shaking. Everything looked a little shiny.

"So," I looked at Joan, who looked as though she might snap, then at Doctor A, "Just to make sure I've got this right—you want me to therapize patient #0801, a.k.a., the Joker." It was hard for me to get the name past the bowling ball wedged in my oesophagus.

"The patient seems to react to you in a way we think it would be good to explore." Doctor Crane cut in, turning his gaze on me. Any other time, I would've reacted to the intensity of his eyes. At that moment, I felt floaty. Like I was watching myself.

 _Now you know how we feel._ Secret Harleen pointed her telescope at me, one eye super-magnified.

"In a patient like that, any kind of response is worth investigating." Crane tugged the file from an unwilling Joan, coming to sit before me.

Flipping through the pages, he showed me notes from multiple therapy sessions that repeated the same thing over and over: "Subject unresponsive". Closing the folder, he handed it to me. My fingers tingled.

"He's usually the one calling the shots, in his universe. He thinks of himself as untouchable. For someone to survive him twice, well, it bears looking into."

I took a deep breath. The file felt hot in my hands. Okay. We can do this. I can do this.

 _I can do this._ Psychologist Harleen was teetering on mania. She'd just won the professional lottery.

 _Sugar,_ I _can do this._ Secret Harleen swung a baseball bat, hitting a homerun. She winked.

"Okay. When do we do this?"

Joan gritted her teeth. Clearly, she didn't feel like sticking around for the show. "If it's okay with everyone, I've got other patients to see to." She stood, gathering the rest of her files. "Jeremiah, don't blame me when this goes badly." Her heels clicked as she left. Doctor Crane watched her leave with a bemused expression.

At her words, a shiver ran up my neck. I brushed it off. "So?" I turned back to Doctor A, half impatient, half about to vomit.

He rubbed his chin, thoughtful. "You've read about the Joker before?"

"Pretty much everything that isn't classified." The stories hadn't lived up to the real deal, that was for sure.

"So you're familiar with his brand of humour."

"I like to think so." I'd heard the same jokes on repeat a few dozen times in my dreams. Felt the bruises, too.

Doctor Crane and he shared a look, Doctor Crane raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure, Jerry?"

He tapped his chin, deciding. "One more night won't make a difference."

Doctor Crane nodded his agreement.

Apprehension nestled itself into my stomach lining like a tiny sliver of glass.

"Now, Doctor Quinzel." Doctor A turned back to me. He looked how I felt. That mixture of nausea and adrenaline you get at the top of a rollercoaster, right before the drop. "We do this now."

* * *

 **Hey! Sorry to switch out an entire Chapter on you guys, but the other version wasn't meshing right with the story, or Harleen's character. Bits and pieces may return, but for now, this version takes the story where it needs to go. Sorry to anyone who preferred the old version. I hope you guys like this version, too! For those interested, Sonequa Martin is who I'm picturing as Joan (in case y'all want to share my visuals). Melanie Martinez - Carousel is the title track.**

 **Your reviews mean the absolute world to me, guys. Thanks for taking the time, srsly 3**


	8. Ava Adore

_In you I see dirty_  
 _In you I count stars_  
 _In you I feel so pretty_  
 _In you I taste god_  
 _In you I feel so hungry_  
 _In you I crash cars—_

* * *

Chapter Eight.

Ava Adore.

* * *

The fluorescent lights flickered as we headed down into maximum security. Doctor Crane had excused himself to return to his patients, which left myself, Doctor Arkham and two beefy security guards to take the winding staircase down into the bowels of Arkham.

 _Who called in the heavy?_ Secret Harleen jerked a thumb at the guards. _Get a loada these guys. Lay off the 'roids, bozos._

"Are you nervous?" Doctor A's own voice jumped with tension, his gaze on the backs of the security guards I'd overheard him call Reggie and Martin T. I guessed there was a Martin-alternative-initial somewhere else in the asylum.

A bead of sweat trickled from my hairline down past my collar. "Why would I be nervous?" I laughed once. "He's only the most notorious patient here. No sweat, Doc. No sweat at all." Tugging the tie out of my now almost-dry hair, I twisted it into a bun and re-secured it, swiping my palm over my damp neck.

 _He's also the only patient you've seen outside these walls._ Psychologist Harleen. _Remember: in here, we're the Doctor. We call the shots._

Secret Harleen giggled. _Good luck pulling that crap with him._ She bared her teeth. _He's gonna eat us alive._

I've never swallowed butterflies, but I was starting to get a pretty good idea of what it might feel like.

We passed through double doors, Reggie and Martin T flanking. Although there were no windows, I was pretty sure it was raining outside. I could smell it. _Petrichor._ Our footsteps echoed in the dim corridor.

Doctor A sped up, the gleam in his eyes getting brighter with every step. "We tried bringing him into the normal asylum population, once," he supplied, inverted commas around the word 'normal'. My brows rose.

"There was…an incident." His eyes darted to me, Adam's apple bobbing. "Doctor Leland thought it best he be confined to max permanently."

The look he gave me as we reached the steel door at the end of the corridor was meaningful. "You won't be surprised to know he's the only Arkham inmate to have gained that particular accolade."

And if I knew anything about the Joker, he wore it like a badge of honour.

"Rehab being the ultimate goal."

He nodded, slipping his ID from his pocket. "The problem is, some people believe some things can't be treated." It was obvious who he was referring to.

To the left of the door was a security booth, the guard inside watching CCTV playback on multiple screens. He barely glanced at Doctor A's ID before punching in the code. With a hiss, the heavy steel door cracked open.

My heart kicked up a gear. Rubbing my chest hard to slow the beat, I followed them through.

"Doctor Leland thinks he can't be cured?" I asked, taking stock of our new surroundings. There were only a couple of cells down here. The doors were steel, like the one we'd just passed through. Worlds away from the plastic psychiatric rooms upstairs. The chemical smell I'd gotten used to was stronger, burning the teensy cilia in my nose.

 _Heavy duty._ Psychologist Harleen observed.

"She believes not." Doctor A answered, leading us to the second door on the left. As far as I could tell, the rest of the cells were empty.

Goosebumps prickled at the sight of the plaque showcasing the only inhabited cell: Patient 0801. The session room was next door.

"And what do you believe?"

There was a slight flush to his cheeks. The corner of his mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile. I knew he had a keen interest in the Joker, that much was obvious. This was the first time I'd gotten an idea of just how interested he might be. "That a good psychiatrist tries everything before labelling someone incurable."

Laying a hand on the cold steel, I didn't answer. Being so close felt like iron near a magnet. The pull of the Clown Prince himself.

 _Proximity can do strange things._ Psychologist Harleen.

"The observation room has one way glass. I'll be on the other side, listening through the intercom." Placing a hand on my shoulder, Doctor A squeezed. "He's chained. Reggie and Martin can accompany you, or not. Previous experience would suggest he prefers not to have guards in the room—but of course, your personal safety is the main concern," he was quick to add when my brow shot up.

Forget the guards—what if he didn't want to talk to _me_? I swallowed.

"He might not be forthcoming, anyway." My anxiety rolled out like a gum bubble.

Doctor A gave a short laugh, turning thoughtful at the concern on my face. "Ultimately, it's a treatment option. It may work, it may not. At the risk of sounding cliché, there's only one way to find out."

 _Pop._ The bubble burst. _You're just an option, Harls._

I set my shoulders. _Fuck it._ "Reggie and Martin can stay in the observation area, they'll see if I have any trouble."

Before my brain could catch up and back out, I opened the door and stepped inside.

Immediately, I froze. He'd been staring, gaze hooded, at the table. Click. The door closed behind me. His attention jerked in my direction, hands flexing in their cuffs. He wasn't wearing a straitjacket. Why wasn't he wearing a straitjacket? My gaze darted to the one-way window at the back of the room.

 _Body language._ Psychologist Harleen murmured, transfixed by the Joker. _They want to see how he reacts to you._

I was right. It was raining. The muted light gave his skin an ethereal glow, throwing the shadows under his cheekbones into sharp relief. His red mouth stretched into a wide grin. Lightning flashed. I jumped.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the infamous _Harley Quinn_. You like that..?" My lips had twitched at the moniker. His stained mouth stretched into a grin. "Just a little something I've been playing around with in all my spare time..." He rolled his head once, snapping back to pin me with pale eyes.

A lock of hair had come loose from behind my ear. I brushed it back. The Joker followed the motion with his eyes, lips parted.

 _Go. And. Sit. Down._ Psychologist Harleen gave me a mental shove.

"Please," he inclined a hand, chain jingling. His syrupy request skimmed a surface that was all predator. "Join me."

Thunder rolled.

"I imagine it gets boring for you, in here," I said, making my way over to the table. His eyes were a sniper dot, tracking my movement. It was easy to forget about Doctor A and the others, watching from behind the glass.

In that moment, we could've been the only people in the whole world.

The chair screech as I sat bounced off the tension like bulletproof glass.

"You're tellin' me, doll." Supine, he swayed like a cobra. "I shoulda known it was you when they let the meds wear off." He flicked his tongue across his teeth. "I gotta thank you for that, Doc. You don't know what it's like when your _mind_ isn't your own." He closed his eyes, muscle twitching in his jaw.

 _Oh, I think I could probably empathise_.

"Well, I'm glad I could help." I found myself leaning closer, starting to relax, my fear fading in place of something else. I took a breath. "I'm here to—"

"Oh, I know what you're _here_ for." His eyes snapped open. "I asked for you, you know...in a manner of speaking." He bit down on his lip, releasing it slowly. "We didn't get a chance to… _chit chat_ , after the little soirée at your step Daddy's mansion."

I flushed, flattered. "I didn't know."

"No?" He barked a laugh. "Old Joan and I didn't exactly _get along_. Call me crazy," he winked, tugging a smile from my lips. "But I think you gotta have a little connection with the person you're spilling your uglies to." Voice lowered, he leaned in. "A little... _electricity_...goes a long way."

My stomach flipped. "You think—you feel—" I took a breath. "You think I'm someone you could talk to?"

"Oh, most _definitely_." The pierce of his pale blue eyes pinned me to my seat. I swallowed. "We got things in common, you and I." His face darkened. "The kind of things that _make_ a person. The very fabric of who. they. _are_." Each word was punctuated by a wave of his hands, miming a mental explosion with a flourish. It was mesmerising.

Blood crept across my cheeks in a flush. "You read about that, too." The file he had on me must've been thorough.

He clicked his tongue. "I'd apologise for, ah, _violating_ your privacy." He pressed his palms together, resting his chin on the apex. "But, you understand—it goes with the territory." His apologetic grin was charming in its insincerity.

"Sure, Mr Joker." I found myself nodding. "I understand."

He shook his head, holding up a hand. "Please, call me J. Mr Joker is my father."

The giggle slipped out before I could catch it. "Sure, Mr J."

He was pleased. Kicking back in his chair, he shot me a loaded look. "You like _games_ , Doc?" He probed.

I hesitated. _Careful, careful._ "Some games."

He rolled his eyes. "This is an _easy_ one, Doc. Promise." Grinning, he held up splayed hands. "Don't say no, now," he warned. "I wanna see a little _give_ and _take_ before I just…open up." His fingers fluttered like butterflies. "Deal…?" he growled.

I nodded.

"Okay, honey." He smirked. Flexing his knuckles, he spread his hands on the table and leaned in. "I'm gonna say a word, and you say the first thing that pops into that pretty—I mean, _medicinal_ little mind of yours. Got it..?" he drew out the words, cocking his head, eyes narrowing when I took a moment to answer.

"I get it, Mr Jo—Mr J." I could almost hear Doctor A's breath heating the observation glass.

"Clown..." he began.

"Circus." My answer was immediate.

"Funny..."

"Joke."

"Batman..." His stained mouth flatlined.

I swallowed. "Scary."

He snorted.

"Harley..." he drawled.

"Quinn." Surprising myself, I blinked.

His pupils flashed. " _Joker_." He growled.

"Confusing," I breathed before I could catch myself. Clapping a hand over my mouth, I darted a glance at the one-way glass.

Pleased, his laugh rolled out. With steepled index fingers he tugged his lower lip forward, revealing silver-capped teeth. "Nice to know I haven't lost my _touch_." His voice dropped an octave, stirring my stomach. "Cooped up down here, all alone." His smile vanished.

Sympathy surged, swallowing my embarrassment. Out of instinct, I reached out to touch his hand, pulling back at the last second. He followed the motion, jerking his jaw.

I shook my head. "It's not good to be alone. For anyone."

He pouted, cocking his head, wolfish eyes searching my face. "You feel a little _lonely_ sometimes, Harley...? A little lost? A little… _misunderstood?_ " His voice dropped beneath my stomach, spark to kindling.

My personalities were silent, transfixed by the present.

Flicking a glance at the observation glass, he jerked his head for me to come closer. Helpless to disobey, I moved near. He leaned in, bringing his lips level with my ear.

Guttural, he murmured. "My Daddy was mean to me, too."

My gasp was cut off by his grip on my throat. Steel clanged as he kicked back his chair. Millimetres from mine, his eyes flickered over my face. My lips parted as I choked, hands clutching his wrists.

Black tickled the edges of my vision. Adrenaline surged. I felt… _excited._

He growled, low in his throat. "I just can't _decide_ with you, honey." He squeezed, breathing hard. Loosening his grip, he brought me closer, his lips parting. Adrenaline surged. Reckless. Want. _Need_...

 _Bang_. The cell door slammed open.

He shoved, sending me tumbling backwards onto the cold ground. Breath burned my throat as I heaved oxygen. Arms wide, he allowed them to restrain him, slamming him face-down onto the table and injecting a needle into the crook of his arm.

His laughter chased me down the hall. "Run, little girl." _HA HA HA HA HA._

~ oOoOo ~

"He's an ass." I slammed my third—empty—cocktail down on the bar. Fuzziness blurred the edges of my vision, a soft cushion for my see-sawing brain. I didn't even know what club we were in. I'd lost track after the fourth.

Pamela eyed the bruises on my neck. I pulled my hair forward, frowning.

 _Today's look is brought to you by occupational hazard couture; here we have Doctor Harleen Quinzel, modelling the purple neck-bruise circlet…_

 _He hurt us._ Psychologist Harleen cut in. She was drunk, hugging her knees, working the session backward again and again, Secret Harleen watching each replay with popcorn and grape soda.

Pamela flicked my forehead, making me flinch. "He's a _psychopath._ " Her voice was laced with _duh_.

"I _know_." I whined, rubbing my finger through a wet spill on the wood. "But does he have to be so—so—confusing!" I exploded, sweeping both of our glasses to the floor with an almighty crash. "Whoopsie." I blinked, shaking my head to pop the neon lights out of my eyes.

"That's okay, sweetie." She fed me the sugar-sweet platitude through gritted teeth, signalling a bartender to clean up the glittering pile. "Confusing isn't my favourite word, here. Could we try 'scary'? Or maybe, 'piece of trash'?"

"But he _is_ confusing." I collapsed on the sticky bar, head in my arms. "He manipulates people. He manipulated _me._ " Annoyance and hopelessness made a strong cocktail of self-doubt. Doubt of my abilities, doubt of my professionalism—

 _Doubt of what we feel._ Psychologist Harleen watched the playback, shaking her head. Secret Harleen nodded. _He's a predator. We became prey like_ that. Her finger snap punctured my reality.

Pamela was snapping her fingers before my face. I blinked. She took my face between her hands, puckering my lips like a goldfish.

"Manipulative. That's a good word." She nodded, encouraging. Her eyes flickered back and forth over my face. "He's manipulative, for sure."

"I need to pee." I informed her, because she was still squeezing my face.

Sighing, she released me. I hopped down from the bar stool, steadied by her arm when I stumbled.

"Manipulative, let's think more on that," she called after me as I swayed through dancers toward the bathroom. "I can tell you about the trip I'm going on when you get back."

I lost her words in a sea of sound. Everything was too much. Tripping into the bathroom, I gripped the cold porcelain of the toilet bowl, emptying everything—fear, confusion, rage. The chemical taste of desire lingered on my tongue, an aftertaste of the therapy session from hell.

Exhausted, I sagged against the cubicle wall, dragging my fingers back and forth across the cold sweat just under my collar bone as the Joker bloomed like a toxic flower in my brain. Brushing damp hair from my forehead, I found myself rolling my head back and forth, giggling at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

"You okay in there?" A voice snaked under the door. If I weren't drunk, I'd say it sounded like a dude. And a familiar dude, at that.

"Peachy keen." I giggled. After a couple of tries I managed to drag myself up from a heap on the floor, banging out of the cubicle. No one was there. I shrugged, making my way to the wall of mirrors.

"You crazy now, too, huh?" I asked my reflection. Eyeliner bled around my eyes, blonde curls coming loose. "Maybe we should get a little hair dye, a couple tattoos, then we could _really_ show him whose boss. Yeah." I pressed a fingertip against the glass, wincing at the sharp pain that lanced me.

"Everything wants to bite me." I muttered, examining the blood welling on my fingertip. "Here's to you, Mr _J_."

Kissing my finger in a salute, I smeared a bloody 'J' on the mirror.

"Take that." I shot at my blood-distorted reflection.

Sauntering out of the bathroom, I was about to make my way to the bar when some dude grabbed my wrist, hard.

"Hey, guy." I yanked back against his grip, baring my teeth. "That's not very nice." He oozed sleaze, gold chain peeking out from his flamboyant, buttoned down shirt.

"My apologies, doll face." He dropped my wrist. My skin thrilled with irritation at the distorted term of endearment. "I thought you were one of my dancers. You sure you ain't…?" He frowned, giving me a once over.

I rubbed my wrist, glaring at him. "One of _what?_ _"_

He gave me a strange look, gesturing to the stage. "Dancers?"

It was then I noticed the girls gyrating in spangled bikinis, dollars littering the floor of the stage. My mouth dropped open.

He chuckled. "Well, if you ain't already, I could make you a real nice offer, sweets." His eyes roved up and down my body, settling on my chest. "You ever consider a change in profession?" The look he gave me was hungry. He ran the backs of his fingers down my arm, sending a cold shudder down my spine.

I backed away. "Not today." The alcohol buzz was starting to fade in favour of cold instinct.

"Excuse me." A hand came down on his shoulder, a dark haired, bearded face just visible in the club lights. Familiarity tugged at me. I squinted, trying to make him out, when someone touched my shoulder. Startled, I spun.

" _There_ you are." Pamela clutched my arms, relief plain on her face. I wrapped her in a tight hug. She stiffened. I squeezed harder. After a moment, she relaxed, patting my hair.

"You brought me to a strip club!" I yelled in her ear, over the music. She winced.

"You made me come in here!" She yelled back. "You wouldn't take no for an answer."

Memory swam. I blinked. "I thought it was a bar!" Laughter surged, giggles trailing behind us as Pam led us to the door. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Creepy and Beardo were gone, his empty chair flashing under neon club lights.

~oOoOo~

"I can get myself in bed, Pammy." I pouted, nevertheless extending my leg so she could undo my heels. Sighing, I collapsed back onto the mattress. She sagged down beside me, exhaling.

"I can't believe you took us in a strip club." She shook her head. Leaning over, she pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Sleep, crazy." She sat up, gathering her heels. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

"'Kay." I snuggled down, closing my eyes. I heard the apartment door close behind her.

After a moment, my eyes snapped open. Rolling over, I stared at the rose on my bedside table.

There was a card. With shaking hands, I tugged it free.

 _Come see me again. J x_

Beside the vase was a small purple cube. I picked it up, turning it over wonderingly in my hands. It was an mp3 player. Powering it up, I saw there were only two songs loaded. I'd never heard either. _Ava Adore_ by The Smashing Pumpkins and _I Can't Decide_ by the Scissor Sisters.

Swallowing, I hit play.

* * *

 **AN: Who spotted the familiar face in the club? Hands? Anyone? Ava Adore by the Smashing Pumpkins laces this whole Chapter, but if ever Mistah J had a song for Harley, it'd be I Can't Decide by the Scissor Sisters. Let me know what you think, guidos. I have a running playlist I can post if anyone wants to listen. I'd love to hear everyone's thoughts on how this is unfolding. Your reviews give me _life_ , even critical ones. Thank you so much for all your comments, favourites, and follows. I love you all, even the silent ones. Hope you all had a great weekend, puddins. Peace. **


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